


The Goblin Market, All Mostly - Part Two of Motley Few: A Twilight Tommy Tale in Three Parts

by GitariArt



Series: Twilight Tommy Tales [6]
Category: OC - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Changelings, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Faeries – Freeform, Fairies, Fairy, Fairy Tale Elements, Fights, Gen, Memory Related, Mythical Beings & Creatures, OC, OC - character – Freeform, Original Character – Freeform, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Plot, Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements, The Folk, Urban Fantasy, Violence, fae, faery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 74,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GitariArt/pseuds/GitariArt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Regent of the Court of the Midwestern Territories hires Twilight Tommy and his house-mates for a tricky rescue mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning/Apology: Due to my vision disability and the limits of spell-checking software, this story probably contains grammatical problems. I have combed through every chapter over a half dozen times. I am also seeking beta readers. I apologize for any inconvenience and will gladly correct any misspellings or grammar fails that are brought to my attention.  
> Acknowledgement: the Straight Lane Group, for sitting there.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characters, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual places or events, is coincidental.  
> Gratitude: Extra-special thanks goes to Rachel, my endlessly loving and encouraging wife.  
> WARNING: This story makes references to events which took place in earlier Twilight Tommy tales. I am not sure they qualify as SPOILERS, but you may want to read those preceding stories first.

Containing: an unexpected telephone call,

a regal audience, and

an unusual commission. 

It was a mid-December Thursday and I was trying to decide how much longer I wanted to stay in Las Vegas. I lingered between the high stakes poker lounges and the main casino floor of the MGM Grand. Perpetual murky lighting and a miasma of tobacco smoke layered with artificial air “fresheners” had me weighing the value of lingering much longer.

          Additionally, the crowds were already thick and hectic, since it was between Thanksgiving and New Years. The weekenders would be rolling in soon for their binges, only making the unrelenting press of people more stifling. Plus, the enticing Pashmi had to go back into work that morning, while the allure of my Camero was in Athens. On the other hand, it was Vegas baby! Loads of wyrd to winnow and plenty of other entertainments… and I had been promising myself the treat of a five-star spa experience, at one of the many luxury resorts.

          The roar from my iPhone6S prompted me to check the caller ID. I had forgotten that I had assigned the MGM movie-logo’s lion to it was Raion-ju. My blood ran cold. The sharp-toothed panther-beastling barely ever spoke to me (or anyone) in person and I had never seen or heard of him dialing a phone. So, I was certain that something horrible must have happened. Maybe, our oak tree had burned down, or… well, I could not imagine anything worse, nor more likely, to get Rai to call me.

          “Hello?” I answered, plugging my left ear with a finger, while listening with the right. “Rai?”

          “Yeah, it’s me.” The rich-baritone purr replied.

I moved through the casino, edging past the other gamblers as best as I could, towards the exit, for better sound quality. Also, I wanted to get closer to the taxis, which would take me back towards our mutual haven, when Rai’s bad news was inevitably reported. I was sure that I would need to be back at our tree-house as soon as possible. My worry was probably unmistakable in my voice, as I asked “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

          “Nothings wrong.” Rai’s deep resonant voice conveyed confusion at my question. “I’m just outside the door in Red Rock. We've all been invited to meet with Jesse Frost.”

          Fresh gentle waves of confusion and curiosity caused me to stumble. I was able to get my mouth to say, “Uh, okay. When?”

          “As soon as possible, at Ariadne’s.”

          “Okay, um, I’m on my way. It’ll probably take me a half hour, to get to the portal.” I figured I could ask my questions---why does the Hawk Wood Court’s Icy Regent, Jesse Frost, want to meet our group?, how did Rai actually receive the invite?, and so on—face to face and probably on the walk from our oaken safe-haven to the Freehold neutral-ground meeting place. knowing that I wanted to go to the meeting, regardless of what the answers were, meant that there was no point in fretting over the questions.

I pedaled my Dahon Speed-D7, back to our faery-portal, in the State Park. Since my stoic ally had conveyed no pregnancy, I forwent getting home faster in favor of saving the taxi or bus fare. Therefore, it was not surprising that I was the last to arrive at our tree-house in the Wilder Woods.

Although, I was a little taken aback by the absence of a couple of my housemates. After Rai and myself, the beauteous bloomwell Tegan Bramblerose, and the two scarred gnarlings Iron Wade the Man of Steal and Sean Tallwind, were the only other members to make the journey. Amaryllis, was of course present, though she abstained from any activities which involved the rest of us passing beyond the sight of the oak’s clearing. I asked after the missing members, asI brushed red Nevada-dust off my clothes and found a seat.

          “It’s just us, for now.” Freckle-cheeked Tegan explained, pinching perfectly manicured left-hand digits, pulling each upright one at a time, with her right, as she listed. “When I talked to Dark Sol, she claimed that she would meet up with us, as soon as she could. Then, she hung up, before I could ask where she was, or why she couldn’t just come.” Crimson brows swooped over sparkling green-eyes, with far more concern for the self-indulgent darkling than I could muster. “And when Rai talked to Gavin and ‘Runner, they were both at their jobs. But, Gavin said that he’d call someone to cover for him. And ‘Runner said that he’d pick up Gavin and meet us at Sheaves & Leaves.”

I was about to ask the questions which I had put off, since Raion-ju had first called me, however my delayed arrival had also meant that the few other members of our little commune had already done their rapid fire questioning-barrage and boiled any inquiries down. Thus, allowing my more communicative comrades to pass me the distilled answers. A moth-like male spirit-touched calling himself Philippe came to our haven and knocked at a window. Our large black-panther lad had been the only one home, other than Amy. Philippe introduced himself as a messenger for King/Queen Jesse Frost and said that the monarch would like to meet with our motley. Raion-ju had discussed, with Miss Bramblerose, over the phone, where we should meet Mr./Ms. Frost, they picked Ariadne’s Freehold, then called the rest of us.

My comrades neither seemed to notice or care about the use of the term “motley”. probably, because Amaryllis tended to refer to us in the same way. However, I knew from my research into fae “culture” that “motley” had a more specific meaning for spirit-touched. In particular solemn vows of mutual aid and protection which no one in our gang had yet voiced. So, I pedantically refrained from applying the label to our troupe.

I still had one question, not for Rai, though. “Um. Amy?” The tree-spirit’s pretty round oak-brown face formed, from the golden-wood wall, across from me. “Is everything alright? I mean, I thought our group magic made it so this place could not be found by strangers?”

The dryad rolled her polished brown eyes at me, in the way that I had come to know meant that I was about to be told something that she felt was terribly obvious. “The magic bends the Wilder Woods to make it harder to find us. But, harder to find, just means people who look even harder still, are able to succeed.”

“Great," Sean Tallwind grumbled, rolling his own—much duller—brown orbs, “so now this Philippe yahoo can tell anyone he pleases, where to find us.”

“He can.” Amy’s toned-shoulders popped out of the wall, as she shrugged. “Our magic is strong though, so that will only make it a little less hard to find us. Even the moth-beastling will only be slightly better off, if he tries to come back again, without an invitation.”

Satisfied as we could be, with the tree-spirit’s explanation, the five of us made ready to trek over to Ariadne’s Freehold. Although, Iron Wade was despondent, that other option which moth-winged Philippe had suggested would have been to meet at an Athens bar, called the Black Forest Pub. I too was curious about the pub. Although, I wanted to know more about another potential spirit-touched gathering place, rather than dour Wade’s libation oriented interests. On the other hand, I absolutely agreed with Tegan and Rai’s instincts that meeting with such a powerful political figure as Jesse Frost would best be done in the place with which we all had some familiarity and knew for a fact was neutral territory. For all we knew her/his Majesty Jesse may have been pissed that our gang had aided the Salamander Court’s current autumnally oriented regime via enabling the Child’s Rite and therefore wanted us ambushed and punished.

Like a cat on the prowl, Raion-ju stalked, while Tegan glide-stepped gracefully, as the duo once more led the way through the barely-penetrable Thorns. The two crafty gnarlings and I followed through the early evening Thorn Maze to our Freehold destination.

In spite of recent rainfall, the autumnal leaves still hung thick from the canopy, as well as the forest floor. The dead leaves were also drier than I would expect from normal post rain foliage and the had been blown into sprawling piles and drifts, against thorny-underbrush. As our quintet marched through, rustlings which may have been imperfect echoes came to our ears, along with other sounds that may have been leaves or swarms of skittering things. Once there was a sharp noise, which Sean Tallwind—unconvincingly—assured us had to have been a dead branch finally freeing itself from a tree, not the wail of a hunting beast. My magical illumination, at least, served to push back the darkness about five paces all around me. Although my faery-light, like the moon, provided no color-spectrum, our surroundings were dark grey pillars rising from mottled-grey amorphous ground-cover, punctuated with void-black gaps. Sharp prickers and thorns tugged at us from beneath the concealing leaves, while the smells of wood-smoke and rotting things wafted by irregularly.

          Even though, my personal experience had been limited to the uncertain environs of the foreboding Wilder Wood’s constant darkness, eerie sounds, and unusual smells, I had also read of other details within the rare-books at Ariadne’s. So, my imagination was expanded with descriptions of other regions of the Inbetween, while my nerves were constricted with clearer expectations of what the creepy noises and scents may be connected to in that encroaching darkness.

          The Briar’s extra-dimensional qualities only made my musing worse, of course. If any of us lost track of our guides, we may never find the mundane world again… Well, that was not as true as it once had been. Thanks to our connection with Amy’s oak, concentrating on the oak would always get any of us there. However, even under the best circumstances, without the right kind of glamour for guidance, the journey could take hours, in the threat-filled Thorny Between.

So, it was not surprising that I sought solace in whatever I could, as we made our way. In particular I breathed easier for having my luminous faery aura and use of the temperature regulating Summer’s Embrace glamour. Although, such considerations inevitably had me reflecting on my whole spirit-touched lot. As usual my conclusions were the same. I would never have chosen enslavement and transformation into my no longer truly human self, yet I could not deny the delight of at least some of the aspects of my new magical life. Even though, the wondrous fae elements often barely counter-balanced the inconceivable terrifying bits.

Seeing my companions’ puffs of air-chilled breaths hah another part of my mind wondering if I should expend a little of my wyrd reserve. I could extend my regulating Summer’s Embrace to all within my moonlight glow. On the other hand, improved luck and communication skills may be more necessary in the imminent meeting with Wing/Queen Jesse. So, I opted to let my allies’ clothing keep them warm.

Everyone had hiking boots and jeans. Rai wore a dark-grey windbreaker, over the only black t-shirt that I had ever seen him in—I like to believe that he had bought a three pack and rotated the wearings. The dour swordsman to my right had a cheap Wal-Mart, faux-leather bomber-style jacket and the grumpy spindle fingered fellow, limping along behind us, wore a mustard-colored all-weather jacket similar to mine. Both of the gnarlings always wore white dress shirts, again I assumed that they had bought several identical shirts, rather than just wearing the same article constantly—for the past few weeks.

I was pleased to notice that the more alluring of our guides had, at least, acquired upgrades. Delightfully curvy Tegan wore Lowa brand mid-calf hiking boots, over wonderfully form-fitting Jag jeans, as well as a better class of flannel button-down—a mint-green LL Bean, rather than her old Wal-Mart special. Tegan’s jacket was real leather, military cut accentuating her narrow waist, and she also wore green leather-gloves, with matching light and dark green striped cashmere scarf and het set.

          Rai and Tegan led the rest of us to Ariadne’s main garden. Effectively an open air courtyard, walled on three side by the Freehold’s architecture. Regardless of day or night, there were always a handful of spirit-touched lounging on the stone benches or lazing on the trimmed grass. There were also as many or more simian lemurs, cavorting amongst the decorative trees. My cohorts and I knew from experience that the lemurs were, in fact, sentient hobkin, though none of us ever really got to know any of them individually.

Approaching Ariadne’s Freehold, from the Briar-side, the building appeared to be a three-story Victorian Manor-house of brown bricks and white-washed wood boards. Whether by magic or spirit-touched muscle-power, the twisting Thorns were held approximately one-hundred yards off, at the edge of an artfully manicured lawn, shrubberies, and other garden ornamentations. At night, only a few of the many age-warped windows ever displayed any light and then only dim flickers of solitary candles or oil lamps.

My party of five ignored the other faery creatures and entered the manor, through the French doors which serviced the garden. We then passed directly through the rare books collection and into the tea room, just outside of the member’s only (meaning fae) areas. I had to suppress shudders of unease, as Sheaves & Leaves at night was more suited to darklings and other such skulking and gothic spirit-touched. The shadows were shadowier and the quiet creepier.

Block-shaped Gavin Granitbane and otter-esque Freerunner had already arrived and sat waiting at two of the small round café-tables, which they had pushed together. The red-orange half-chiseled fellow wore his standard (possibly only) outfit, hiking boots, jeans, red and black lumberjack flannel-shirt, and faux-leather black bomber-jacket. ‘Runner had, thankfully, invested in a variety of colors for his “uniform’s” shirt and currently wore a lemon-yellow short-sleeved polo, just small enough to really show off his swimmer’s chest, arms, and back. Otherwise the whiskery lad’s attire matched Gavin’s, Sean’s, and Iron Wade’s.

          Each of us bought some refreshments from the night chef, Borris. On my few nocturnal visits to Sheaves & Leaves, the staff had seemed to consist mostly of cats and Borris. The chef-clerk was a big, sturdy, slab of a mostly-bald guy, with one tusk-like tooth growing up from a pronounced under bite. I guessed that the good-natured fellow had been changed into wild boar-beastling, although hippopotamus may have been possible, or he was partially transformed before he escaped his Keeper. Whatever the case, Borris was probably more physically formidable than his joviality revealed. Borris also spoke with a fairly thick Baltic or Slavic accent—even if I were a linguist, the protruding tusk muddied many of the words.

Borris was especially pleased when my gang each chose to purchased one of that evening’s specials—a “meat” pie. One of my companions may have been brave, or foolish, enough to have asked what kind of meat was in the pies. I, however, chose not to hear such dubious details. If the establishment had wanted me to know exactly what I was eating, then there were other more clearly labeled selections.

The seven of us ate, while Tegan brought Gavin and ‘Runner up to speed with the little that we knew. Borris must have overheard some of what was said, for he asked, “You all here for more dan my fine cooking, da?”

“Uh, yeah, sort of.” I replied, wanting to maintain politeness, yet not sure how secret our meeting was intended to be. I looked to Rai as the person who had set this whole thing up, however his iridescent cool-mint slit-eyes never wavered from his savory pastry.

“We’re supposed to be meeting someone.” Iron Wade provided, his leather-dry voice sounding just as cautious.

The cook slowly nodded his large head, closed one relatively beady eye, and placed a sausagy finger to his slightly snouty nose. “Dis person you are meeting, would not happen to be ov a paler persuasion? Maybe a bit chilly, but regal, da?” His _R_ s rolling like little stampedes.

We all glanced at each other and around the otherwise empty tea shop/deli, then exchanged shrugs which said “might as well”. Miss Bramblerose answered Borris, “Yes, that might describe who we may be interested in.”

“Or, they’re interested in us,” I added, with quiet aloofness, “more accurately.”

“Vell,” Borris said conversationally, starting to make a show of cleaning the already pristine counter, “dere just happens dat such a personage arrived a short vile ago and has secured one of de private rooms for an audience vith a group of at least a half dozen.”

Most of us looked to Raion-ju, expecting that he would have confirmed the specifics of our meeting’s location. The stoic fellow just shrugged and finished his meaty-flakey treat.

“Um, Borris?” I spoke and the big man looked up like we had not just been having a conversation. “How can we locate the private room? I don’t think we want to delay ourselves any longer than we already have.”

“Da, ov course, Tokka vill show you.” Borris rang a desk-bell next to his ‘40’s era cash register.

Tokka came _tok-tok-tokking_ over from the book-store side of Sheave  & Leaves’s mundane front. The wooden lad placed a feather duster on the counter, as Borris instructed where we were to be led. Tokka was a little over three feet tall and made of various colors of polished wood (dark maple hair, oak skin, pine teeth, and so forth). The lad looked like an unclothed and unpainted ventriloquist dummy, yet displayed more fluidity of movement than solid wood and carved joints could allow. Though, the lad did wear a small slate-board, from a cord around his neck. Tokka smiled mutely and did as Borris bade.

Tokka wrote a note, in chalk, on his slate and showed my party “Follow Me”. Then the lad led us back through the rare books, up a few flights of stairs, to an open door. Tokka knocked on the door-frame, yet did not step in, instead he stood aside and gestured that my group should enter.

          The room looked like an English library, from a period movie or TV show, like Wuthering Heights or Pride and Prejudice. The shelves and furnishings were all dark browns, the upholstery all rich green brocades, and the walls were a pale sky blue. The space was large enough to seat twenty, lounging and spread around the room. Fireplaces situated in the middle of three of the walls, although only the one most central to the rectangular room was lit. There were also a few oil-burning wall-lamps lit with low flames. Thus, the scene as a whole was mostly deep flickering shadows.

          The chill in the room also defied the fireplace and well sealed windows. The air was also perfumed with the faint smells of warm coco, peppermint, and pine. It only took me a few moments to deduce that the aromas and coolness were features of the phlegmatic courtier’s Graces, rather than natural aspects of the meeting place.

          A thin grayish sort of fellow with big eyebrows and moth wings and a couple of larger ogre-shaped masses, loomed in the shadows, at one end of the room. The winged guy, certainly the messenger Philippe, wore a well tailored medium grey suit of what I guessed was wool. The moth-beastling spent the meeting apparently more interested in the flickering lamp nearest him, than anything else. Neither of the other two hulking forms were lit well enough to make out such details.

          Androgynous Jesse Frost sat more central within the chamber, in a wing-backed chair, before a coffee table. Other seating, enough for our group, ringed the tabled, in a crescent, opposite the wintery regent of Hawk Wood’s. Steam rose in transparent streamers from a large silver tea-service, on the coffee table.

          Lord/Lady Frost was attractive as always, s/he wore a fashion-forward satin evening gown of deep purples and greens which shimmered in the firelight and made the King/Queen appear to be draped in a frozen lake at midnight. Jesse’s abyss-black hair was styled into short spikes, and his/her pale skin sparkled like fresh-powdery snow. The monarch’s eyes were ice-blue and passive, as s/he gestured for us to enter and sit.

          I had not learned much specifically about most of the members of either the Freehold or the Court of the Midwest Territories. My curiously about such social and politic matters was always subsumed by my interests in personal security or the vast array of historical documents available at the Freehold. That said, I had gleaned some information regarding Jesse Frost. After being the most influential phlegmatically humored spirit-touched in the territory, Mr./Ms. Frost was known for delighting in not revealing his/her gender, with a special enjoyment of people attempting to converse around the issue. Personally, I would not have been surprised to be told that Jesse Frost had a vagina, a set of both genitalia, none at all, or even something completely new, s/he simply seemed that alien to my experiences.

          I also recalled that Jesse had a nephew who had gone missing shortly before the scholar Red Rhea had announce the need for the Child’s Rite (the fear based ritual which, amongst other things, was likely to reinforce Hawk Wood’s current melancholic ruling couple’s power base). The few rumors that I had heard, suggested that King/Queen Frost had been more fierce and power-hungry than most spirit-touched in the area. Lastly, elegant Frost shared the Winterwater Regency with a partner of living shadow named Sly Boots.

          In the past and from a distance, I had witnessed Sly Boots acting as Jesse Frost’s shadow. It had required close observation, however every so often Jesse’s shadow would not move as s/he had, or in a way for which the light could not account. In the darkened meeting room of the Freehold, I did not even bother trying to make out Regent Sly Boots, I simply assumed that he was there.

          In truth, I was put off my guard early, when the ersatz leader invited us to sit, have tea, and engaged in mild pleasantries. Jesse Frost was nicer to us as a group than any other title bearing spirit-touched we had yet encountered. I am sure that the situation was improved for my allies not pulling their favorite party trick of barraging the more experienced person with a repetitive merry-go-round of questions. Also, I imagined that, since Jesse had called the meeting, s/he was more prepared to deal with us—compared to the other audiences into which we had wedged ourselves, at any rate.

A couple of servers, dressed in dark forest-green winter-garments of a medieval style, stepped forward to serve the tea. The waiter and waitress kept one eye on Jesse Frost and only spoke to verify sugar or cream contents. When either stepped away from the conversation area, their dark clothes made them very hard to see. Once I knew the pair were there, however, I could make them out in the darkness. It took great effort to keep my eyes from darting about, attempting to discern other lurking servants or guards or whatever, yet doing so would have been unseemly, as well as drawing attention to me.

On the other hand, I did my illuminating aura subtly brighter. Again, too much would have been rude, as the androgynous monarch was acting as host and had set the poorly lit mood. Even so, my little tweak did, at least, help me visually track the two nearest servers, along with my other sense.

With Earl Grey tea being served, the aromas of coco and peppermint must have been from King/Queen Frost. The bundled-up spirit-touched each contributed a scent of pine.

“What shall we talk about?” Jesse Frost asked once the tea had been distributed. His/her husky voice and regal posture alluding to chill-tension and obscure meanings.

My colleagues seemed to miss or ignore any hidden implications and simply took the ebon-haired monarch’s question to be an indication for us to ask whatever question came to mind. Fortunately, for a change, my associates actually took turns and kept their inquiries relatively simple and polite.

I had a hard time wrapping my mind around what kind of person would Drink from the Icy Challis. Also, I just could not grasp what conversational common-ground such a person and I might share. I assumed Philippe had approached Rain-ju, for his shared humor, yet looking to my stoic ally proved fruitless as always. Though, to be fair, Rai did speak more than I had ever heard at one sitting, he simply did not raise any issues pertinent to why we had been summoned. So, my anxiety levels were higher than usual, adding to my inability to piece together many of the details directly before me. Thus, I found myself drifting in and out of the conversation and only processing the broader general topic themes.

“So, how’s the Salamander Court work?” Sean Tallwind bluntly grumbled at one point. “I mean, like what does it do?”

“Sworn Court members,” Frost’s face was mostly a porcelain mask, although her eyes did suggest that s/he was daining to suffer through such common questions for some unclear reason, “are provided access to a variety of necessities. Food, shelter, and protection being the most basic.” Sharp pale-blue eyes momentarily sliced back and forth between Iron Wade and Sean. “Although, raw materials and various workshops, such as a forge, are also made available.”

“For free?” Rai’s deep-soft voice sounded more surprised and confused, than accusatory or truly interested.

“For anyone that joins?” Tegan Bramblerose asked almost at the same moment.

“Certainly not.” The snowy-skinned royal still sounded stiffly polite, yet her/his eyes held disappointment as they gazed upon Raion-ju. “There is a tithe to be paid.” Then s/he glanced to Miss Bramblerose. “And applicants must demonstrate some skill or value, which the Court deems useful.”

At some point, shortly thereafter, Freerunner whisper-gargled something to his Rai. I was heartened to see that I was not alone desiring to avoid direct conversation with the powerful regent. Raion-ju then relayed the inquiry, “What sort of protections, did you mean earlier?”

“There are knights,” Jesse Frost glanced over to the bruisers, standing with Philippe, “sworn to defend the Court and its members, onto death.”

“Is this a lifetime commitment?” Tegan pale skin seemed almost ruddy in the pinkish firelight, by comparison to the wintery host/ess.

One largish, yet remarkably delicate hand turned palm up, then returned to its owner’s lap. “That is up to the individual. Although, Knights do tend to swear oaths in decades, whereas most others pledge annually, a year and a day at a time.”

At another point, the topic had either come back to fealty, or it had not left while I was off somewhere in my own head.

“One swears fealty,” Jesse was saying imperiously, “to the Hawk Wood Court of the Midwest Territories, not the ruling individuals.”

“But,” Iron Wade’s brow furrowed his metallic eyes into slits, “you said those,” he nodded to Philippe and the bully-boys, “were your knights?”

Ms. Frost smirked. “I never said that they were my knights. Indeed, when regents exchange duties, members commonly renew their vows to confirm for the Court were their ultimate loyalties lay. While that supersedes friendships and other alliances, it does not preclude them.”

“What if,” Gavin stood behind the rest of us, one hand on a hip and the other stroking his chin with an audible rasp. “someone doesn’t want to renew their vows?”

Jesse Frost’s icy-eyes flickered in a manner that could only be described as a shrug, although the rest of his/her body remained poised as if a statue. “When the balance of power shifts, or a member’s pledge expires, they have the opportunity to leave. In the case of a new ruling body, many that feel contentious with the new leadership take the opportunity to extricate themselves from potentially unpleasant duties, while also avoiding being marked as an oathbreaker.”

Interspersed through the conversation were questions of expected and acceptable behavior. All of the etiquette related answers came down to common sense politeness, nothing esoteric or anachronistic. So, failing to bow was not grounds for challenge, saying “thank you” did not constitute an insult, and so forth. Plus, somewhere in the discussion, one of my allies (either Granitbane or Tallwind) asked “Are we supposed to call you Majesty, or something?”

Jesse had somehow become even more rigidly composed “You may address me as _Ms_. Frost.”

Inevitably and understandably, Ms. Frost wearied of acting as an information station and expected to receive some answers in return. “You may have heard that someone close to me has been abducted. I imagine that you may have seen him on your journey to retrieve Autumnearth’s child sacrifice?”

“Who was taken?” the result of sharp-toothed Raion-ju’s perpetual lack of attention billowed forth in his question.

Jesse’s frigid blue eyes narrowed and pristine lips pursed.

“I believe,” Tegan tried to clue Rai in, “Ms. Frost is referring to her nephew. We had heard about the boy being taken before Red Rhea had made her announcement at the Barrow Mound.”

Large bluish-green cat-eyes blinked slowly a couple of times, at the petite redhead, “I didn’t go to that.”

I bit my lip and thought very loudly to myself. “True, but you were there the half dozen or more times that we all discussed the nephew as a possible tool being employed to guaranty that the Child’s Rite went off!”

“Well, my nephew, Mostly, did go missing around then.” Jesse looked less irritated than before, although still seemed calculating. “He is slender and fairly vulpine in appearance. I am sure that you would recall having seen him? Or perhaps you spoke with someone that mentioned having… seen him.”

Ms. Frost’s pause made me nervous. I did not quite grasped what she was implying, yet there was something unwelcome in her tone.

In a misguided effort to answer the monarch’s explicit inquiry, generally jovial and talkative Gavin started to make references about Johnny Rotter, the blighter who had stolen Joey Owens, from the ritual in the first place. The earthen ex-fireman spoke as if Johnny was the only person in Athens that might take kids. While, Iron Wade the Man of Steal and shapely Tegan started to point metaphoric fingers at the fellow that I thought of as Red King—implying that his information about talk of kidnappers may have been auto-biographical.

“I find it difficult to believe that Roi d’Rouge could do anything, save barter and gamble.” Ms. Frost seemed even more pointedly unamused.

“Absolutely, your Majesty!” Sitting rigid with frustrated embarrassment, I filed away that Red King was Roi d’Rouge, while I spoke loud enough to get my comrades to pipe down. “We have not seen your nephew and all we have heard are rumors, from weeks ago. The person, ah Roi, had spoke of a kidnapper that clearly fit the description of the Folk, who ultimately attacked us all, upon our return to the ritual site.” While I ostensibly spoke to Frost, my you-must-have-lost-your-freakin’-minds glare was split between my bloomwell and gremlin cohorts. Shifting that stare to Mr. Granitbane/Gravelbrain, I added, “And the blighter was most likely a puppet of the same enemy.” I returned my attention to Ms. Frost and my face to a neutral composure. “If you believe that your nephew…ah? ”

Jesse Frost said “Mostly.” With a nod.

“Uh, mostly?” Much of the momentum that I had built up was lost to my blinking confusion.

Jesse sighed, “Yes, my nephew is called Mostly.”

“Okay,” I nodded and rubbed my palms on my thighs, while I tried to get back on track, “Mostly. If you think Mostly was taken by either of those… creatures, we did not see him or think to ask after him.”

King/Queen Jesse considered in silence for several moments, then seemed to take the news in stride, saying. “Very well if I am not discussing a ransom, then let us negotiate a commission.”

The reason for Ms. Frost’s caginess snapped into focus for me, she had thought that my gang had nephew Mostly, or at least knew where he was. It did make sense, as we were outsiders that had showed up right around when Mostly disappeared. Even if we had no personal motivation for taking the King/Queen’s nephew, a faction in the court might have hired outsiders like us to do the deed. Such thoughts made me wonder if the timing of the Child’s Rite had also been coincidental and unrelated to Mostly as well.

What followed from there was, at least, a half-hour of negotiations. While my party was still better behaved than similar previous encounters, they had slipped back into a fair amount of cross-talk and repetitive questioning. Ultimately, it came down to, Jesse Frost wanting to pay us to quietly find and retrieve Mostly. Our outsider/newcomer positions, which had made us perfect suspects for Mostly’s disappearance, also served well to guaranty that we were not working for some other court faction. Plus, I was quite sure that we looked expendable to the secretive and strategic wintery fae.

          For my collective’s part, we were concerned about getting too deep too quick, both in the Briar and as political pawns. On the other hand, none of us could see a reason not to at least try to find the missing lad. I could tell that each of my comrades shared my dislike that another kid had been preyed upon. Plus, our success, in finding the boy, could improve our reputations. Although, a sticking point in the negotiations was our troupe’s unwillingness to promise Mostly’s retrieval.

Eventually, Jesse was satisfied with our promise to do our best to try and find Mostly, or at least information regarding his whereabouts. If Mostly turned out to have been enslaved by Doctor Barber, or worse, then none of us wanted to be obligated to the amount of risk that such a rescue would require. Ms. Frost was not pleased, she just seemed accepting of the equivocations.

Should we actually succeed in providing proof of the nephew’s location, Ms. Frost promised each member of our household the equivalent of one-thousand dollars in gold. Personally, I would have preferred a boon (such as the one Queen Glass had awarded us) or a comparative favor of some sort. However my allies followed Sean Tallwind’s interest in cash. So, I was left, once again, shaking my head in confusion, wondering why my associates would not simply parlay their glamours into lucrative outcomes, as had Tegan and I. On the other hand, Ms. Frost was also fairly adamant about setting a specific payment, presumably not wanting to have open-ended obligations to a pack of unsworn spirit-touched.

I was impressed that Gavin and Tegan got the “our household" wording through the negotiation process. I doubted that Amaryllis would have an interest in the money and I absolutely did not believe that Dark Sol deserved to be paid for not being present. On the other hand, it was reassuring to see a compassionate side to my comrades. Plus, squeezing more cash out of the clearly affluent Ms. Frost just felt right.

Jesse Frost stood, to complete our deal, the rest of us milled around, in order to each have the opportunity to touch fingers with our new employer and complete the official binding of our words. The Lord/Lady’s skin was softer and warmer than I had anticipated. Rather than ice-hard and equally cold, Ms. Frost’s skin was silky, with the chill of someone having just come in from a winter’s day. Also, as I pledged my assistance to the matter, I felt the telltale taught _thrum-twist-twing_ settle firmly inside me. It was the most complex agreement that I had made since fleeing from my enslavement.

With the vow of service and secrecy officially sealed, Jesse Frost provide some further details. The lad, Mostly, had last been seen at the Black Forest Pub, two days before Red Rhea’s big announcement. Ms. Frost’s best investigators and trackers had been seeking Mostly for the three weeks since the disappearance. However, those detectives were all bound by various court regulations and suspicions, so there may be clues obscured by social politics. While no trail had been discovered, scrying rituals had confirmed that he still lived.

With those meager facts imparted, Ms. Frost added personal suspicion, “It was most likely Red Rhea.” Thin pale lips twisted into a bitter frown. ”Or, at least, a powerful faction of the autumnal courtiers. It is the only way Mostly could have been so thoroughly obfuscated.” Chilly blue-crystal eyes darted around the assembled, assessing which of us knew the big word. “However, Lady Rhea was witnessed leaving the territory, with only her few positions and her mortal… assistant.” The pause suggested many unsavory implications. “Other’s might have motive for taking Mostly, however none that my resources have been able to identify.”

The followed a period wherein my gang tried to come up with any other useful questions, yet quickly enough just boiled down to “where will we start”. At which point Ms. Frost rose, to depart. The Regent’s entourage swelled out of shadowy corners, to attend her.

I had one more question. “Ms. Frost, how shall we contact you with updates? Do you happen to have a phone number or email address?”

“Of course.” The icy elfin Lady/Lord held out a sparkly hand. “I shall enter the information to your cell.”

I was fairly surprised. So few of the spirit-touched that I encountered seemed at all familiar with 21st Century technologies, that my request had been a shot in the dark. Reaching into my pocket for my burner-phone, I felt my iPhone6S and changed my mind at the last moment. While not wanting to risk my most expensive device being compromised in some way, I wanted to impress the regal Ms. Frost even more. I was rewarded with an impressed raised eyebrow, as Jesse accepted the iPhone.

 

Considering the late hour, six of us chose to sack-out in our rental house. Freerunner preferred to stay with his cab, making money between naps. On the ride home, I passed my iPhone6S over my shoulder to the bloomwell in my backseat. I was not interested in pulling over and I knew too well the dangers of fiddling with a phone while driving. Gavin was again in my passenger seat, however I knew that trying to talk him through the device’s use would have been as distracting as using it myself.

“Uh, Tegan,” I clarified my action, “could you, um, text ms. Frost’s number? I want to verify the digits, but don’ tell her. Instead ask if Mostly has any other names that people might know him as.”

Jesse’s reply came within seconds, “My nephew is sometimes called All Mostly.”

With a mission awaiting our rested minds, our troupe spread out in the empty ranch-style suburban dwelling and got to sleep. At least, the rest of them slept, after I had finished using the air-compressor to inflate my air-mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Containing: simple first steps,

going a Ways, and

information from in the Mound

Waking was unpleasant, in the dreary December light. I did not feel any specific physical discomfort or mental trauma, per se. There was just a sort of waking irritation, which I had come to associate with the mundane world of mortality. Even before opening my crystalline eyes, or shifting my slender frame, I felt just shy of real discomfort—textures almost itchy, smells not quite sour, lighting too vague, and so on. I knew from a couple of stays at five-star luxury suites, in Las Vegas, that even the best sheets and most opulent room had still contained the same edge of perception discomforts. Waking on the cheap Wal-Mart sheets, spread over my air-mattress, in the barren rental-house, only compounded those little irritants.

          Then, I once more, and oh so thankfully, recalled my name and grinned uncontrollably. It was my full True Name, the one which my normal-mortal parents had given me. Names had power amongst fae, so having access to my own assured me a fair amount of autonomy. Thus, every day in which I arose, able to remember my True Name, would be good enough to start ignoring all of those other minor mundane miseries.

          Next, my puzzle-piece mind started to assemble memories of where I was and why. Shifting around, on the glorified-balloon of a bed, I checked the time. Between the wall and my air-mattress, I had wedged my cheap little combination five-inch TV, AM/FM radio, and alarm-clock. The device was also supposed to have a couple of other features, for emergency weather conditions, but I could not see the need to bother learning what they were. I barely cared about the TV or Radio, for that matter. The clock confirmed “7:34 AM”. I probably could have relied on my iPhone6S, however I did not want the device to make some synthetic chirping noise and risk waking my snoring roommates.

          As per usual, when any of our collective stayed in the rental property, Gavin Granitbane, Iron Wade the Man of Steal and I occupied the south-east corner room, in the back of the house. Wade, with his lanky body tucked as far into a sleeping-bag as it would go, had a high wheezing snore, which put me in mind of band-saws. Gavin’s bouldery mass lay atop his sleeping-bag, sounding like a cement mixer. I was always surprised when I realized that I had been able to sleep in the same room with either man, let alone both.

          The bigger picture of the previous day’s events, formed more clearly in my mind, as I got up, used the toilet, and showered. With so many of our gang present, the single bathroom was a coveted resource. Hence my effort to rise before the others. Or more precisely, I usually had to race Tegan, our other morning-person, for the facilities. A moot point that morning, as fair Miss Bramblerose was so far ahead of me that she had not only showered already, she had left a note on the fridge “Getting coffee and breakfast sandwiches for the house. Back Soon. -- Tegan.”

          By the time that I was deflating my bed and packing it away, in my Camero GT’s trunk, the rest of the household had started to rise. Tegan returned, with Pan Era bagel and egg sandwiches, as well as coffees. Although, Sean Tallwind had already subjected himself and a couple of the other groggy unfortunates to some instant coffee that he actually seemed not to mind. Freerunner had also joined us at some point during the evening. So, by nine-AM, the seven of us were once more gathered in the furniture-free living room with warm food-ish stuff.

          With very little preamble, our conversation opened on possible first steps towards finding All Mostly. The best any of my allies could offer was to ask around at the bar, where the kid had last been seen. As flimsy as I thought that was, it had been nearly three weeks, after all. I had no better suggestions, though, my kind of investigating required some sort of records to have been made.

Hence I chewed my chemically modified bagel-which bitterly, while I wondered for the umpteenth time, why saggy-skinned Mr. Tallwind was not offering more options. Since finding lost people was so clearly in a private investigator’s milieu. Yet again, though, the self-proclaimed detective merely grunted and went along with whatever anyone else suggested. I could not see my way to wasting the energy needed to confront the Spindle-fingered gnarling, as the disagreeable cuss was so unlikely to actually give me a straight answer.

          I did attempt what research that I could on my iPhone6S. Unsurprisingly, the Black Forest Pub had no discernable web presence. The same was true for Sheaves & leaves, as well. It was par for the luddites which I had come to expect from the spirit-touched of Athens Ohio. Regent Frost’s cell-phone savvy had clearly just given me a temporary bout optimism. Although as frustrating as the general technophobia was, I could see the value from a changeling’s perspective, the advantages of being harder to locate and all of that. Thus, our septet chose to assumed that the tavern would be closed, or at least unhelpfully empty, during the day.

Tegan Bramblerose placed her half finished bagel-which in her lap, to free up a hand for smacking her alabaster forehead, “Do any of _you_ know where the Black Forest even is?”

We six males sat or stood around the carpeted room, looking to each other shrugging and shaking our head.

          Meanwhile my mind wandered. Part of me lingered over the continued bareness of the rental habitat. I had no interest in investing “laying roots”, as it were, in the salt-box of a mundane house, so I could understand if my roommates felt the same. Yet, I had still bought my inflatable mattress for a minimum of comfort, while none of the others ever showed any interest in getting even the most rudimentary furniture for their own personal use. Especially confusing, for me, as most of the others insisted on keeping a steady rotation of two or three of us in residence at most days. While I agreed with the impulse to guard our paid for property, I simply could not grasp the willingness to do so in without a decent seat. We had, at least, clubbed together for pots, plates, cutlery and the like, though.

          Another persistent set of thoughts needled me about continuing to spend time with my casually-murderous colleagues. Even though the emotionless brutality had served well against the petty Bright One, Doctor Barber, it seemed exceptionally dangerous to be around at all other times. Especially, in light of what happened to the defenseless Ken Dahl. The redcaps too, for that matter, they had deserved a beating to be sure, however such a gory massacre was excessive.

         “Should we text, Frost?” Iron Wade’s parched voice pulled me back to the conversation, while his bagel and egg sandwich was halfway between the plate resting on his outstretched legs and his mouth.

          “Uh, I’d rather not.” My face squinch up, at the mere thought of bugging Ms. Frost with something so trivial as getting directions “I’m sure someone at Sheaves & Leaves, or the Barrow Mound, can tell us.”

          The weary looking fencer nodded thoughtfully, while he finished chewing. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to check out the Court’s forge set up, anyway. If it’s half decent, I should be able to start making us all some decent weapons.”

          Everyone else was intrigued about what they could get Iron Wade to smith for them. I did not participate, since they always acted as if I was breaking their toys, when I added my thoughts on the topic. We lived in the middle of the mid-west USA, in 2016, so I imagined carrying swords, maces, and axes around would be a sure-fire way to draw unwanted attention from the mortal authorities, as well as being cumbersome. Although, I did have to give credit to athletic Miss Bramblerose for favoring easily concealed throwing knives. Plus, I wondered why the battle-thirsty group did not simply buy guns. There was a reason that wars were not fought with blades and clubs, anymore, after all.

Of course, I also disliked the basic assumption that our gang—as individuals, or as a whole—would need to be armed, at all. In my twenty years prior to being changed, I had only been in three “fights” and they had barely amounted to a few ill conceived punches being thrown from either participant. Even though, I had been in much more serious battles with this gang, since escaping our Keepers, I still felt like walking around with visible weapons would only provoke more tension. Resulting in conflicts from which we could probably have talked our way out. My choleric humor craved to win, I simply believed that overcoming a foe via rhetoric was more impressive—not to mention less messy.

          Admittedly, I also kept my trap shut about the weaponry because Iron Wade had yet to prove any of his metalworking claims. It was another aspect that Wade and Sean shared, the former’s purported smithing skills and the latter’s sleuthing. It made me wonder if “pathological liar” or “capability delusions” was a common trait of all gnarling, which my research had simply missed.

As the meal wrapped up, and without any better ideas, our “magnificent” seven agreed to reconvene at Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves, at two-in-the-afternoon. From there we would follow the established Ways, to the Salamander Mound. Then, we split up to attend to our personal interests.

The day was overcast and chilly, somewhere in the upper forties. The cloud-cover spread from horizon to horizon, yet did not threaten rain or sleet or the like. The gusts of wind, however, were bighting cold, for anyone not protected by a Summer’s Embrace glamour.

Even though I tricked the temperature regulating magic into effect, by spitting on a spark, I worried that the hunt for Mostly may call for some of my other glamours, many of which I would need to employ wyrd to cast. So, I decided to spend my morning foraging. In Athens, on a weekday morning, that meant driving my orange Camero over to the Athens Community Center.

The ACC was a small strip-mall style two-story office building. The back area had a sad little playground and basket ball court (for nice weather play). Inside the building, the lower floor was converted into a couple of gyms—including an indoor B-ball court, a boxing ring )with related training gear, and a more all purpose space (for aerobics classes and the like). The upper floor remained mostly as office-stile space and was used for various community meetings, such as alcoholic’s anonymous, or knitting clubs.

I found the rage-a-holic meetings especially fruitful, when I could not easily get to Vegas. However, certain of the boxers and trainers subscribed to a get-angry-to-get-motivated methodology, which could be as satisfying, from a wyrd winnowing perspective. I had even hung around enough times, actively drafting poetry and passively pulling in mystic-energy, that none of the regulars gave me the stink eye, anymore.

Without a current writing project, or particular internet research to do on my iPhone6S, I was more fully subjected to Community Center more fully, than usual. Although, “fully” was ironic, for ever since escaping the Lands of the Folk, my perceptions of the so-called real world never seemed complete. It was almost as if streets and buildings and cars and so on were two-dimensional images, arranged to create a three-dimensional optical illusion. People and animals were a bit more substantial, more akin to interacting with really high-quality animatronics or computer graphics.

          So, between my attempts to avoid thinking about the murders that the people I lived with had committed, feeling mildly disconnected from the world, wondering if I had promised Jesse Frost an impossible task, and all of my other scattered mental puzzle pieces, I derived very little satisfaction from the wyrd that I winnowed. Which may have been for the best, considering the alternative might have been a manic high with no place to discharge it. After several hours, I got back into my V8 IROC-Z and headed over to Sheaves & Leaves.

I was very early for my gangs afternoon meeting. However, I looked forward to a leisurely lunch of fae-friendly modification-free food. Plus, the mere presence of the spirit-touched Freehold provided some stability, within the otherwise flattened world. Pulling into view of the converted Victorian two-story home, on its semi-industrial side road, the property appeared weightier and more filled in, against the rest of the world. The effect put me in mind of how gravity was sometimes described to bend space, like a bowling-ball on a stretched rubber sheet. All fae things shared the quality to greater or lesser degrees, Sheaves & Leaves was just the most solid, the most believable, that I had experienced within Athens.

My luncheon was delicious and uneventful. I even had the opportunity to chat idly with both Philomena at the front desk and Rosa behind the tea room’s counter, before my allies started arriving.

It was a smooth hike along the Ways, from Ariadne’s to the Hawk Wood Court’s stronghold. All the arcane overgrowth, which had arisen for Red Rhea’s autumnal fear-based ritual, had receded from the fixed faery-path. So, the court and Freehold members responsible for maintaining the extra-dimensional trail must have been doing their duties. I idly wondered just exactly how much travel and maintenance was required to keep the Twisting Thorns and Briar-fauna from encroaching.

The Briar weather continued to be milder than in Athens, although mundane Ohio had finally cooled down to reasonably similar temperatures. However, Athens continued to be noticeably wetter, while along the beaten Ways, the wind whipped—rattling high branches, causing colorful dead-leaves to swirl in falling clouds, and loose clothing to flap hard, as if it were trying to fly off of the wearers’ bodies. Even with the strong winds, crackling bonfires could be heard and smelled, as well as the scents of hay and over-ripe vegetables.

Dark Briar-trees towered along both sides, their thick foliage making the Ways into a tunnel. Except for the jagged line of charcoal-grey sky, which ran in dashes overhead, where the branches could not quite reach their counterparts across the path.

My haven-mates and I fell into our habitual marching pattern. I was central, while Tegan and Raion-ju led, at the very edge of my faery light. Iron Wade and Freerunner were to my sides. Gavin guarded our rear, with limpy Sean for company.

My stride virtually sprang with anticipation that the seven of us were actually going benefit from our relationship with the Hawk Wood Court. Since Queen glass Refractory had granted our group a boon of access to the Court, none of us had followed up on the opportunity, as far as I knew. Though, it would not have surprised me to discover that Dark Sol had been availing herself of the Barrow Mound’s hospitalities. Which, I supposed, Sol was as entitled to, since she had helped during the whole Child’s Rite affair, which had garnered us the boon. Personally, I had just been too busy with my own goals, to bother with the Salamanders. I had no idea what my other comrades excuses were. Especially, Iron Wade the Man of Steal, who had been winging on over multiple meal-times that he wanted access to a decent forge.

          It was possible that weatherworn Wade, and perhaps the others, avoided the Hawk Wood Court because they still relied solely on springy Tegan and phlegmatic Rai for guidance through the Thorns. Personally, I had been unwilling to be so dependent on two people who had their own lives to live. Admittedly, it had required a fair amount of screwed-up courage, to travel the Briar alone the first few time… and every single time thereafter. So, could imagine that fear, laziness, or fear, might all be reasons for any of my cohorts to rely on Rai and Tegan. I just thought all of those excuses were weak sauce.

Then again, I reminded myself that lots of spirit-touched suffered all kinds of delusions—caused by the torturous whims of their Keepers, or an inability to readjust to the mortal world, or both. So, Iron Wade might only believe that he has metalworking abilities. I found myself hoping that grey-eyed Wade really would be able to use the forge, thereby raising his confidence to become a more active member of our collective.

Turning my untethered attention to ‘Runner, I realized that my mood was also lifted by his presence. The hirsute lad was almost as inscrutable as Rai, which made me wonder if it was a beastling trait. Regardless, “Runner had seemed to have been distancing himself from our group, with his incessant taxi driving. I sympathized with the notion, yet much preferred that the otter-esque fellow provide another set of eyes and ears to our mission.

          At the ancient Salamander-shaped Barrow Mound, the giant stone double doors stood open in the wide amphibian’s mouth. Just like on the Ways, all signs of the Child’s Rite were gone, even the massive fire-pit. My free-flowing thoughts questioned whether the entrance was visible to normans and, if so, how cumbersome was it when tourists or archeology students came to see the historical grave site. Or course, there always seemed to be a couple of spirit-touched nearby, sometimes more guard-like than others. So, part of their duties probably entailed distracting the mortals.

          Having reached our destination, I wrangled my musings. Turning to more productive lines, like “Who should we seek for answers?”, such as directions to the black Forest Pub or, better yet, information about Mostly. Similarly, “Whom could we rely on for honest and accurate responses?” My immediate hope was that I could find boisterous Tom of the Holler, mostly for his also having raised Summerfire’s Red Spear. However Tom was a regent, so likely to be busy. Plus, King Holler had not stuck me as the giving-directions type—orders certainly, but simple direction, no.

          The “guards” of the day were a pair of individuals lounging near the doorway-maw. One of the spirit-touched fellows was as big as Raion-ju and more scarred than Tallwind and Iron Wade together, he wore what looked like a small circus tent (vertically striped in alternating red, orange, and brown), as a poncho. The other chap wore similar colors, although dressed in modern style clothing, he was about five-and-a-half-feet tall, skinny, and bald, with acid-yellow skin and foot long pointy ears. The duo had the air of just loitering, by the entrance, which may have been why Wade decided to treat them as an information booth.

          Luckily, Mr. Man of Steal was feeling polite and differential enough that the littler guard-fellow shrugged and gave direction to the forge. Not that the smithy would have been hard to find, as it was practically right off the main entrance. The short hall, which led to Iron Wade’s goal, was wide and tall, as were the doors at the end of it. So, I assumed the court-smiths made large things, like carts or cannons which needed the space and easy access to the exit.

The forge was larger than most banquet halls. The ceiling was high, yet obscured by choking black-smoke, which came pouring out of three of the five red-hot furnaces mouths. Haze filled spot-lights barely illuminated the workers at the stoked forges. Otherwise the soot coated room was nearly visually impenetrable. On the other hand, the cacophonous noise, of banging and clanking echoing about, bore its way through my ears and brain and points beyond.

          Needless to say, I remained at the entrance of the unpleasant room. Even so, the fowl acrid-sooty stench coated my throat and lungs. Plus, the stifling heat was relentlessly intense enough to be felt, even through my Summer’s Embrace glamour. I was surprised that the smiths needed to place metal into the furnaces.

My most nature-y companions, floral Tegan, otter-skinned ‘Runner, and big-cat Rai all stayed with me, in the doorway. Gavin “Stone-skin” Granitbane and burn-scarred Sean walked further into the caustic din-haze, apparently only mildly perturbed by the calamitous atmosphere. Meanwhile, Iron Wade walked in without sign of discomfort, or any indication of even registering the atmosphere.

The gnarling swordsman strode to an unoccupied work station, at one of the stoked furnace. Iron Wade’s lusterless metallic-grey eyes just stared at the glowing heat-source, for what must have been several full minutes. Then the dour faced gremlin turned on his heel and wordlessly marched out, right past the rest of us.

We all walked through the cathedral-like interior of the fae mound, towards the central nave. Iron Wade strode with stiff-lipped aloofness, while I could only shake my head in resignation. The lanky fellow may have been experiencing some inner emotional turmoil. However, the dour silent-treatment came off as acting too cool to be bothered with the rest of us. So, I did not share my comrades’ interest to get Wade to open up and explain himself.

          Thankfully, I spotted the familiar pumpkin-colored visage of Lor. Providing me the opportunity to extricate myself from my gang and talk to the melancholic hunter. After Iron Wade’s anticlimactic moment, I especially wanted to accomplish something, for the “find All Mostly” investigation. Since Lor had gossiped willingly in the past, I hoped that the five-foot-nothing, pylon-colored woodsman would be an easy mark for new information.

          The orange elf was talking with a squat dreadlocked fae, to one side of the nave, as I approached. I towered over the two other spirit-touched lads, who were of a height. Although, Lor still had orange hair, just slightly darker than his skin, styled like Bozo the Clown’s, so both fellows dominated me in hair volume.

          Otherwise Lor looked like a short lean Tarzan, right down to wearing a barely adequate leather loin cloth. The elfin hunter had also acquired a leather vest, since last I had seen him, though the bow and quiver slung over one sturdy shoulder seemed the same. Up close, the dreadlocks, of Lor’s more stocky companion, were in fact quills. The spines stuck through the back of the chap’s brown duster-coat, as well as from his head. The very brown porcupine-beastling looked doughy of face, while his baggy cloths obscured his physique. On the other hand, the quilled lad’s stance was akin to how Tegan Bramblerose stood, just before she executed some gracefully debilitating martial-arts maneuver. The two fellows’ bearings made me glad that I was meeting them under amiable circumstances.

Lor held a small brown bag of, what turned out to be, roasted nuts in his left hand and ate them with his right as he talked. Porcupine held a large tankard with both hands and drank from time to time.

          I caught part of what Lor had been saying as I approached, “… like a zebra, but scaly.” He shook his head. “Got away though, when I was taking to the trees.” Shaking his head some more and chewed a nut. “I had heard the others saying that they had seen a few of the things, but this was my first confirmation of the nasty burrowing buggers.” His tone was enthusiastic, as usual.

          “Heya, Lor,” I clapped the hunter on his left shoulder. I did so carefully, so as to not dislodge his snacks and to avoid being mistaken for aggression. “Sounds like you saw a medium sized vermicious k’nid.” I nodded a greeting to the other fellow. “Did I hear you say there were others around?”

          “Aye,” Lor eyed me skeptically, with dark-green orbs, “at least three based on time and place of reported sightings, maybe more though. How do you mean these verma-whatever-you-called-its are medium?”

          “Vermicious k’nid.” I pronounced it more clearly, as I had chosen the name, I wanted people to get it right. “And sure, my gang,” I thumbed over to where my cohorts stood at a snack table, feeding their faces and failing to even try to interact with anyone that might answer a question, “killed one, the size of a full-grown hippo, a few weeks back.”

          The hunter asked for more details, clearly trying to confirm that we were discussing the same type of ferocious Briar-beast. I recounted my tale of our hunt for the two courtiers, although I left out the part about our prey birthing a dozen viable young that had escaped us. I figured the growing young were now Hawk Wood’s problem and that no good could come from them associating the creatures with my troupe.

          The traffic-cone colored man did introduce me to the spiny fellow, Trundle Pepperthorn. Trundle wiped a foam mustache from his lip before waving hello. The be-quilled chap did not speak much and when he did, he had an odd wheezy stammer, that reminded me of a cross between Whinnie the Pooh and my ally Freerunner.

          As I wrapped up my tale of k’nid conquest, Lor goaded me a little, “And you’re sure this was not something a little niggler whispered to you?”

          I could tell that Lor was skirting around outright calling me a liar. So, I showed off the k’nid-hide bracer that Sean had made for me, as some proof of my words. Neither man seemed particularly impressed, although they did both started to act like I told the truth about the k’nid encounter, if not the beast’s size.

“So, anyway,” I changed the subject with a slow flap of my hand, as if waving away a torpid fly, “I came over because I was curious if you had heard anything new about King/Queen Frost’s nephew? I overheard someone in passing mention something, while I was at the Freehold. But I didn’t catch any details. I remembered you had mentioned something about the boy’s abduction as we walked to the Child’s Rite announcement. So, I thought you might be in the know for any further news?”

Trundle squinted beady animal-eyes at me shrewdly, I assume trying to assess my angle.

Lor blinked his rich crystalline eyes a couple of times, then asked with genuine curiosity, “Why are you interested in Mostly?”

“I dunno, it’s sort of hard to say.” I shrugged one shoulder and came up with a story that did not involve being hired to find the kid. “It’s like… well I helped get Joey…”

My audience knitted their brows in deep confusion.

I sighed and clarified, “the Child’s Rite sacrifice?”

Both fae lad’s eyes widened and faces relaxed with comprehension.

“Anyway,” I rolled my own amber orbs, “when I overheard the comment about this Mostly kid, it made me think how terrible Joey had it and… well and all of us, quite frankly, considering what captivity under the Folk could be like.”

Trundle winced. Lor nodded sympathetically.

“So, I was wondering if there was any news.” I went on. “Like has someone found anything to suggest that Jesse Frost’s nephew was snatched by that prick with the razors or his puppet Johnny Rotter?”

Mr. Pepperthorn actually stuck out his tongue and wheezed a “Blagh eeegh,” of distaste at the mention of the lesser Bright One and his thrall.

The hunter agreed with a wrinkled orange nose, he said, “No, nothing like that. I’m pretty sure that his uncle/aunt thinks he was kidnapped, but I’m betting that Mostly is just partying in Miami.”

“Or heeee ran off weeeeth the eehg circus.” Trundle took another two handed sip of foamy brew.

“Maybe both.” Lor pointed a finger of agreement to his friend, then ate another nut

“So, you don’t think the kid’s in trouble or danger?” I verified.

Orange shoulders shrugged, “He could be, from what I understand he’s the type that was always getting into one mess or another. Not my problem, though.”

Quills quivered as Trundle nodded agreement.

“But, uh, he’s a member of your court? Doesn’t that matter?” I was honestly shocked.

“Look,” Lor spoke around another nut, “if my King or Queen told me to look for the pain in the ass, then I would. Or if any of the regents asked me too, I might even look then. But I’m not going to waste time tracking down someone that’s most likely suffering from their own stupidity. If they’re even suffering at all.” His matter of fact tone had lost all joviality, which made it seem angrier than shouting.

“Alright, alright,” I raised my slender hands briefly, “I get it.” I picked a non-sequitur to defuse the tension. “Oh yeah, do you see any nigglers attached to me currently?” I asked, as casually as I could.

The two court members exchanged brief side long glances, that I decided was just meant to mess with me. Lor said, somewhat patronizingly, “Nooo, no invisible sea creatures swimming by you, Twilight.”

         Just then Iron Wade, Gavin, and Tegan had come over. Wade was smirking for some reason. Gavin asked, “So, did ya get the direction Tommy?”

          I blinked at the rocky weightlifter for a second then said, “Oh, yeah, right.” and turned back to Lor and Pepperthorn. “Could either of you guys give us directions to a place called the Black Forest Pub? Apparently my stalwart compatriots sprained their tongues, or are to a scared, to ask any of your many fellow court members.”

Lor smiled wide at my sarcasm and Trundle’s chuckle sounded like a manual tire pump being used with gusto. I did not look at any of my allies for fear that I might simply launch myself, at them in frustrated rage over their lazy and entitled attitudes.

          “Sure, Twilight,” Lor said, popping in another salty snack, “it’s not that hard to find. But, if they’re nervous here, you might not want to take them to the ‘Forest, that is a seriously tough place.”

          While getting the directions, Iron Wade said something about “life under the sea” which I thought was meant as a dig towards Lor, but the orange hunter seemed unfazed. I had no interest in participating in light banter with my less than useful ally, so I merely chalked it up to some melancholic inside joke. My soured mood carried through rejoining the rest of my housemates, as well. I had hoped that my partners in the eyes of Ms. Frost would have spread out and asked around, regarding All Mostly’s disappearance. Any additional details or rumors might have been useful. Instead, the six of my so-called-companions had just stood, in an open-mouthed blinking clump, expecting me to take care of all information gathering.

I especially dwelt on how Sean Tallwind must have been a private investigator in the same way that Iron Wade was a blacksmith. Tallwind had claimed on more than one occasion to have been a private eye, prior to his capture by Keepers. Yet, the closest the burnt wrinkle-bag had ever come to displaying any investigative prowess had been finding tracks—a trick any former boy scout or game-hunter could have pulled off. I clenched my teeth, as my rehashed discontent made my mood more morose.

 

The seven of us stayed together for the uneventful hike, back to our vehicles. Sheaves & Leaves gravel parking lot was blanketed in the deep shadows of dusk, as we split up to load into the cars.

Stepping from the modest Victorian converted-residence, into the cloudy November half-light, Gavin had once more called shot-gun in my Camero IROC-Z. Tegan Bramblerose and Iron Wade the Man of Steal slid and folded, respectively, into my backseat. I tempered my disappointment that Tegan would not be as easy to see, had she been in the passenger seat, with some pleasure that she chose my ride over Freerunner’s roomier taxi, in the first place. I was just confused that either large fellow wanted to wedge themselves into my Chevy. I supposed that since Gavin spent so much time unconsciously posing, that he probably gravitated to the cooler car. As for Iron Wade’s inclination for personal discomfort, I guessed that sitting next to Tegan was the main draw.

Whatever the reasons, I tried to tell myself that who I drove did not effect me. Although, that proved to be untrue. As it began to seem as if the only reason that the haggard swordsman had picked my vehicle was to make esoteric ocean remarks, throughout the drive. Thus, my growing irritation with the gnarling gremlin compounded and started connecting to other aspects of disappointment with him. For example, Iron Wade had yet to make good on his promise—made weeks earlier—to give me fencing lessons. Even the normally calming roar of my commemorative addition IROC-Z’s V8 could not fully sooth my nerves, as we made our way to the Black Forest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Containing: a Black Forest,

bar talk, and

reflective revelations

Unsurprisingly, the tavern shared many geographic elements in common with Sheaves & Leaves. The property was down an unpaved side-road, backed on an Ohio River tributary, and had a gravel parking area. At least a hundred yards from its nearest neighbor, the buildings most telling aspect was its heftier dimensionality. Like Ariadne’s Freehold, the Black Forest seemed more real to my crystalline eyes

          Although, the vehicles in the lot were quite unremarkably mundane. An old bluish Geo Metro and an even older graying-white Ford Pick-up both looked about as clean and dinged up as I would expect for their ages. On the other hand, the dozen or so other vehicles present were well maintain, while still being road-worn, Harleys. I nodded understanding to my recollection of Lor’s warning regarding the bar’s danger level, clearly he had meant the biker-gang clientele.

The building itself looked very much like it belonged in its Germanic woodland namesake. The Black Forrest Pub had a high-peaked roof on a two-story unmistakably-Tudor structure. Thick, almost-black wood-beams crossed and framed white-washed panels. Matching dark shutters adorned small windows and a brass-bound door of thick oak-planks.    All of the upper windows had curtains, which blocked viewing in, while the ground floor all had closed shutters.

Two relatively small pieces of signage were visible. A weathered wood board, above the door, with “Ye Black Forest Pub” burnt into it, in an Old English style font. Also, a wood framed black enameled iron plate, affixed next to the entry, depicted a classic heraldic salamander looking back at it’s own tail, over a pair of oak-leaves crossed at their stems. Unlike Ariadne’s Freehold or the Duchies, which I had visited in the Western Territories, I saw no banding around the pub’s threshold. I suspected that the other locations used the banding as part of the magic to enforce their “no fighting on the premises” edicts. So, I found the Black Forest’s lack somewhat ominous.

          The solid main-door opened into a small square-ish vestibule, which actually contained a machine for dispensing cigarette packs. I blinked at the memory of my dad telling me about the gross vending machines, from his childhood. I never imagined that I would ever see one. The tiny cell-like chamber also had a sturdy wooden chair, which supported an extremely hirsute spirit-touched. The beastling was built along the lines of Raion-ju, only with a bushy brown beard, rounded ears high on his head, and a muscle-y snout-ish face. The relaxed grizly-esque bouncer wore black-leather biker boots, blue jeans, and a black-leather vest, no shirt beyond his own reddish-brown fur. The hairy fellow set his large tankard on a small shelf, as we entered, he then nodded at as we trouped passed—an acknowledged sizing-up, rather than a greeting.

          Three steps led down, from the antechamber into the spacious tavern. The décor was mainly thick dark-wood with brass accents, cross beams in the ceiling, lots of tables as well as booths, a very large roaring fireplace, and a central bar. I noted possible bolt-holes, should any real danger arise, toilet doors—one each, for males and females, double swing-doors to what must have been kitchen, another a set of double doors were open to a side banquette/special-events room, and an opening with stairs which appeared to lead up to the second floor.

          A full-size pig looked small as it roasted on a spit over the two or three burning tree trunks within the fireplace. The aroma of roast meat, as well as hops, reached into my nose and gave my brain a hug, so tight that it squeezed extra saliva into my mouth.

          The bar was a three-sixty design, like in the old TV show Cheers, with stools all the way around. The bar’s top was polished to the point that it glowed with reflected light, from the fireplace and candles, in wall sconces and table votives. Two waitresses placed and picked up orders with the lone bartender working the island-like station.

          In addition to the trio of employees, there were fifteen or twenty customers. Spying only spirit touched, I wondered if the bear-beastling bouncer refused entrance to normans. I also noted that no-one sat at the well lit bar. Several people did sit individually amongst the more shrouded booths and tables. However, the majority of the customers clustered around two tables which had been pushed together.

          The large double-table group clearly belonged to the motorcycles parked out front. They wore biker leathers with lots of studs, zippers, and chains. While there were several types of spirit-touched features within the gang, most of them looked more like razorback boars. In fact, the porcine-beastlings were less man-like than most changelings that I had seen—reminding me of hairy versions of the guards from Jabba the Hutt’s palace, only truly fleshy and scary, unlike the obviously rubbery muppets.

          Everyone, in the pub, seemed pretty casual, much like the guests and members of Ariadne’s Freehold, Hawk Wood’s Salamander Mound, the Pleasure gardens of d’Or, and the like. Outside of such secured places, spirit-touched tended to be more nervous, defensive, and generally high-strung. So, at least that “is it safe to talk fae stuff” part of my mind could relax. Thus, freeing up more brain power for worrying about accidentally offending gang members, or giving away mission details that Ms. Frost would want kept secret.

Our party definitely garnered looks, as we entered, however no perceptively deep interest or hostility, not even—and thankfully—from the bikers. The seven of us moved en mass, to the largest booth and only needed to add one additional chair, from an empty table. Had stony Gavin or felinoid Rai been proportioned like more average people, we would not have even needed the spare seat.

Our waitress practically zipped over, her long silvery straight-hair almost sticking out behind her, as she glided around the various chairs and tables. The elfin lass introduced herself as Aurora, she had a vibrant all American Midwestern beauty and smiled a bright-white sparkling smile. Considering the strongly themed décor, I was surprised that the staff did not wear traditional Bavarian, or October-fest, garb. Instead our cute waitress wore a simple dark green blouse tucked into relaxed fit blue jeans, fancy Nike sneakers, and an apron with pockets. Aurora was cheerful and friendly, although barely stood still long enough to take our orders, or deliver them, before she was off to treat her other customers the same way.

The limited menu was only a chalkboard, above the bar. The bulk of the offered selections constituted a couple score of beers, ales, and lagers—mostly house special micro-brews. Though, there were a half-dozen food items, each featuring roast pork—except the salad, which could still get pork added. My companions ordered basic sounding beers and ales from the menu and some of them got food. I ordered the butt, belly, and cheese sandwich and felt adventurous enough to try the featured Black Forest Red Ale.

Before Aurora took our order, Tegan Bramblerose had decided to take point, in our investigation. The auburn-haired temptress engaged the bartender, in some conversation. Since the two were a third of the way across the tavern and speaking casually, it was impossible to overhear what was said. So, the best that I could do was try and assess body language.

The Caucasian featured bartender’s hair was short-ish blond and his skin tone was a variety of earthy reds and browns, in finger-wide horizontal bands, like geologic strata. Otherwise, the bartender simply seemed politely neutral in his stance and facial expressions.

I looked around my table. Since I had done the only investigating at Hawk Wood, I was inclined to let the other follow Tegan’s lead and interact with the various potential sources of information arrayed within the pub. I quickly dismissed any notion of either introverted ‘Runner or Rai, following through with any such activity. The one was a computer programmer turned nervous cabbie and the other an engineer turned loafer. On the other hand, grumpy Sean Tallwind theoretically had his PI skills, the usually gregarious Gavin Granitbane must have had to question strangers as a fireman, and Iron Wade the Man of Steal had been a teacher and coach who must have dealt with communicating to new students annually. I could only shake my head in slow disbelief, that my significant glances failed to provoke any response from my cohorts.

We had all undergone horrific traumas, at the hands of our Keepers. Traumas which had made each of us twitchy about all sorts of things. So, I certainly grasped that talking to unchanged mortals, might make some spirit-touched self-conscious, especially freshly liberated individuals such as my group. Also, I understood that fae might find it hard to interact with new changelings because the others could be so disturbing in various ways. I, for instance, found dealing with darklings, or the phlegmatically humored, or pretty ladies (if I must be honest), difficult for various reasons. However, hard or uncomfortable did not mean impossible. Nor did it excuse that five of my six companions being incapable of talking to anyone, most of the time! Slumped back, crossing my arms and mentally kicked myself for ever having agreed to join a promise with these doofs.

Now I was obligated to Jesse Frost whether my haven-mates did anything or not. I imagined that the wintery Regent would be disappointed and un-accepting if merely told that “an effort had been made”. Unlike my associates, I also had the sense to be afraid of what Ms. Frost, or the Gyr, would do to us, if we did not fulfill our bargain. If it was just Jesse Frost’s wrath, I might be able to make it to the Red Court and hide there. Not that I really believed the situation warranted a strategic retreat. Regardless my research of spirit-touched had been clear, the Gyr tainted oathbreakers, so that all fae could perceive their duplicitous natures, no matter how far one may run.

I had to stop wallowing in my outrage. So, I convinced myself that, my own Summerfire’s Grace helped me rise to the challenge, while each of my colleagues were failed by their chosen seasonal devotions. Plus, I grew tired of leaving Tegan to fly as solo as my allies had all left me, back at the Barrow Mound. Of course, my table-mates utter lack of conversation was not exactly riveting me in place, either. Additionally, I might score some “good guy” points with Tegan, if she saw me being helpful, while the others were not.

As the fair Bramblerose seemed to be working the employee angle, I chose to approach some customers. I did not feel like interrupting anyone’s intimate evening or private time, though, so I got up and headed to the biker gang. Suspecting there was a fairly high chance that I might accidentally offend the bikers, I also made an effort to forestall that by stepping over to Aurora first and ordering the gang a round of drinks. In truth part of me toyed with the idea of pissing the bikers off on purpose, because then I knew my cohorts would get involved. Unfortunately, that would not teach my associates to talk to others, would fail to get us any closer to finding All Mostly, and would almost certainly just result in more people dying.

          The bikers out numbered my gang and most of them were built like Rai or Gavin. Plus, since most of the strangers were of a boar-like appearance, they were the largest grouping of same-type spirit-touched that I had seen, since the redcaps—a very negative association to me. Also, this was not some mundane parking lot. The salamander plaque on the door indicated that the pub was Hawk Wood Court territory and the crossed leaves probably meant a specific political sub-set. So, I really wanted to avoid starting anything which would garner the attentions of those factions.

          After waiting for Aurora to start delivering the drinks, I stepped up to the gang. Staying at, what I estimated to be, just outside any of their easy reach, I smile, “Hi,” I swept my opened-palm in an arcing wave, across my chest, “I’m Twilight Tommy, I was hoping you all might answer a few questions.”

          The dude that I had guessed was the leader was the second biggest of the gang, had the largest tusks, and was one of several with a lady on his lap. The woman, in question, also happened to be one of the few gang members not of a porcine nature. Rather, the lass was cherubically plump with dark black-brown skin streaked with veins of lighter green-brown and her hair looked like tight curls of dark-green moss. Leader-guy spoke with a heavy smoker’s rumble, “You some sort of reporter, Tinkerbelle?”

There was chuckling from his cohorts.

“Nope,” I waved a palm in gentle dismissal, “I’m just new in town and looking for someone, I was told that he used to hang out hear. I’m guessing your club travels around in the area a bit and might have seen or heard of the guy. Or maybe you travel farther afield and can confirm if this guy was south of Ohio.”

Pig-face-#1 grunted and drank some of the beer for which I had paid. “What’d this guy do to you?”

I blinked in confusion at the assumption, “Uh, nothing… yet.” My mind raced to concoct a plausible lie. “He’s supposed to be holding something for me and I want to settle up.”

“Whatchoo need pretty boy? MJ, blow, Oxi? I’m the guy your lookin’ for. We heard there’s space in town and are looking to build up a clientele, after all.”

One of the other gang pig-beastlings agreed in a nasally voice, “Heh, heh, yeah Boss, like we’re like small business entrepreneurs. Heh, heh.” Some of the others chuckled along.

“Uh, no thanks.” Again I scrambled for a reasonable falsehood, “I’m not looking for drugs right now. My guy is supposed to be setting me up with a place and some contacts.” I made sure to stay focused on the leader, while trying to track the others with my peripheral vision. “So, have you seen or heard of him? Goes by All Mostly, or just Mostly, young looking with fox-like features?”

“Naw, I don’t know ‘im.” The leader snorted again and shrugged, forcing his lap girl to hang on jiggling, then glanced around his table, “Anyone know anything about this Mostly twerp?”

The gang replied with various Noes, nopes, and head shakes.

          “Okay,” letting my shoulders slump, “well thanks anyway.” I considered pumping some wyrd into my Fairest Tongue glamour, however that would only help me say the right sort of things to the boar-beastlings, which did not matter since I believed that they were speaking true.

         Aurora was back, serving one of the bikers, so I had the frenetic waitress get the gang another round on me and left their company. I did not like rewarding the scumbags, however they had said that they were moving into town. So, I chose to leave a positive impression of me in their minds, in case I had the future misfortune to encounter any of them again.

          Active Tegan and I returned to our own gang, at about the same time. Aurora having delivered our food, moments earlier. My expression must have betrayed my generally bitter mood. Because Gavin asked “What’s the matter, Tommy?” as his blue-marble eyes tracked from me to the bikers.

          “Uh, nothing, exactly.” I answered as I took my seat next to ‘Runner. “All I found out, for sure, is that they offered to sell me drugs… But, I got the impression that they’re in town because they heard that the redcaps are gone and these guys want to fill that space.”

Admittedly, I was jumping some pretty large suppositional gaps to land at that conclusion. Even so, my speculation caused my party to eat in grim silence for a few moments. Thus, affording me time to savor my first few bights. My sandwich was juicy, not too fatty, and very large. The deceptively simple sandwich really shined when it did interesting flavorful things in conjunction with my dark ale.

Then, the moment of peace was over, as Iron Wade made some sort of weird comment about luaus being better after high tide. Wrinkled Sean and my hairy neighbor chuckled, while the rest of us were baffled.

          “Anyway,” Tegan rolled her bright viridescent-eyes and set her mug on the table, “the bartender’s called Horst the Host, I think he’s also the owner. He says that Mostly hasn’t been around in a few weeks, but he used to come in regular.” With a nod towards the dark-haired waitress, serving the other side of the room. “Horst’s pretty sure that Mostly was dating Veritas.” She tucked her dark-red hair back behind each elegantly tapered ear. “I’m guessing that a male will have better luck talking to her.”

          Our five companions stared, or drank their beers, as if they did not understand English. So, I sighed and rolled my amber-eyes, as I finished my mouthful of amazingly yummy smoked pork and fancy German cheese on fresh baked rye. Then I left my half eaten sandwich and walked over to the quieter side of the bar.

While approaching the dark-haired elfin waitress, I considered my angle. I did not want to bother or annoy the lass, which tended to run counter my clumsy speech patterns. Especially, when I was talking to a pretty lady. On the other hand, I wanted to fulfill our agreement with Jesse Frost, sooner rather than later. My racing thoughts careened around a dozen variants on what to day, what not to say, and what the consequences of messing up might be. So, failed to consider tipping the scales in my favor, via glamours.

          Veritas’s features were distinctly Mediterranean, like a textbook direction of Greco-Roman sculpture. The waitress was also as tall as me, with tan-olive skin, long curly-brunet hair cascading to her mid-back, pointy ears barely peaked through the dark ringlets, while her polished amethyst irises were surrounded by bloodshot puffiness. Veritas looked as if she had stepped out of an old movie portrayal of stereotypical Gypsy’s, in a dark-red present’s dress, white blouse embroidered with grape vines, sandals, and an apron like Aurora’s. The only deviation was small purple-glass grape-cluster earrings, instead of low hanging gold hoops.

          “Um, excuse me, uh Veritas, is it?” I intercepted the sad lass without food or drink in her hands and off to the side, away from her handful of customers.

          “Huh? Oh, Veri, you can call me Veri. Everyone around here does.” Her voice was a little raspy and tired, while her body language seemed to be a controlled parody of relaxed.

          “Alright, uh, Veri, um, most people call me Tommy.” She nodded, I continued. “Um, I, uh… I’m not sure how to ask this…”

          Veri shifted her weight to one foot, placed a counter balancing hand on her hip, and looked at me like she had lots of much better things to be doing.

          “So, um. Yeah, fine…” I resolved for the direct approach, “You know Mostly, ah, right?”

          Everything about Veri tensed and her full wine-red lips became very thin. She spoke tersely, “What do you know about Mostly?!”

          “Nothing.” I flinched back, raising my hands to waist height, defensively. “I mean, um, I just know that he hasn’t been around for a while. And, uh, I was told to talk to him. I heard you two went together for a while and wondered if you could, um, tell me where he was, or get a message to him?”

          “No,” Veri’s voice softened and her violet-gem eyes started to glisten with moisture, “I don’t know where he is.”

          “Oh…” I was about to change the subject, to avoid the looming tears, then I remembered Lor’s guess. “I heard, uh, that he might be partying down in Miami. Is that, um, something that he does a lot? And does he, uh, usually stay long?”

          The red-rimmed amethysts snapped and stabbed into my eyes. Veri’s brow was creased and when she spoke her voice was tight with anger or hurt, for some reason. “I’m sure that I wouldn’t know.” She turned away, “I’m busy working, I don’t have time to talk to you.” Then she stormed into the ladies room.

          I was shaking my head in slow confusion, as I returned to my party’s booth. My plate was empty. At least, my ale was still there.

          “So, how’d it go Sebastian?” Iron Wade smirked at me.

          I could not be bothered to add that nomenclature to my mental pile of confusion. “Nothing specific or useful.” I half shrugged. ”She definitely seemed to know Mostly and was upset at the mention of him. Whether she was feeling guilty for Mostly’s disappearance or just missed him, I couldn’t tell…. Oh, and most people call her Veri.”

          Which prompted a few minutes of spit-balling ideas for next moves. Not that I believed anyone other than Tegan was about to make any actual moves.

          “Well errgh,” Freerunner did garumph one key element, “if we rrrrreally think that Veri urm is involved, then rrmph I can rrerr glamourrr some ferrits to uurrr trail herrr when she urrf leaves hererer.”

          Sean wobbled his jowls in a nod, “Yeah, then if she contacts either Mostly or his kidnappers, we can have some idea where and how.”

          “I do have a couple more ideas.” Miss Bramblerose was staring thoughtfully into her nearly empty stein. “First, I want to try talking to Veri on my own.” She shrugged. “Sort of girl to girl. So, it’ll be best for the rest of you to wait outside.”

          The rest of us nodded. I smiled at Tegan also referring to us as a gang, even though I tended to mean it more seriously than she seemed to. My smile was also connected to imaginings of what the alluring bloomwell might do to convince the emotionally-vulnerable and equally attractive Veritas, in order to be more talkative… Knowing that it was an adolescent male fantasy, did not stop my musings from sweetening my otherwise sour mood.

          “But after that,” determined Miss Bramblerose had continued speaking, “I think that we’ll probably need to go to this other place that Horst mentioned, the Goblin Market.”

          “The what now?” Weathered Wade almost choked on his beer.

         Tegan shrugged, causing her green flannel shirt to once more fail at obscuring her curves, “Apparently it’s a sort of monthly swap-meet and a big deal for the spirit-touched around here. The way Horst tells it, you can get anything that you’re looking for at the Goblin Market.” She finished her drink. “I guess it’s only open for like four or five days and it just started for this month.”

          “Well, heck,” Tallwind rubbed his hands together gleefully, the elongated fingers intertwining like a pair of daddy-longlegs wrestling, “if they got whatever we want, then they must have a tool that’ll lead us to the Mostly kid.”

          Tegan’s freckled heart-shaped face nodded agreement, “Or, at least, better information.”

          Then Ms. Bramblerose shooed the rest of us away, so that she could try to talk with Veri. Sean insisted on lingering inside, near the door, while the rest of us waited by the cars in the lot. The crotchety gnarling made some half-assed claim to be making sure that nubile Tegan could exit, if her conversation turned ugly. Personally, I believed that Sean was just hoping to see the petite auburn-haired beauty come onto the dark gypsy of a waitress.

          While the five of us waited outside for our most and least attractive members, Freerunner cast a couple of glamours. The furry athletically-built lad summoned a few ferrets and chittered at them in their language. After a few minutes, the fuzzy tubes bounded into the overgrown grass, near the parking area, presumably to wait and watch for Veri.

As my whisker-faced compatriot was about his magics, it occurred to me that I might employ some of my own. I pulled forth the silver-filigreed hand-mirror, which I always kept with me, either in my jacket pocket or Coach messenger bag. Since the grooming aid was also a magical scrying device, I felt it was simply too valuable to leave lying around, even at our group’s secured oak-haven. Even though, I tended to purposefully forget the device, since it had once revealed me to my Keeper.

On the other hand, Sean Tallwind’s interest in buying a tracking tool at the Goblin Market, had forcibly reminded me that I had such a magic already. So, if I really did want to resolve the Mostly hunt quickly, U might as well try it.

Unfortunately, like all faery magic, my mirror was not very precise. The silver-handled looking-glass required a rhyme to activate its revelatory power, however the quality, context, and specificity of the poem determined the clarity and accuracy of the result. Furthermore, the looking-glass had no sentience. Functioning like a poorly coded search engine, the mirror only revealed the top result, based on the limits of the lyrical data that it was given.

          Even so, I leaned against my muscle-car and attempted a few improvised rhymes. Trying to identify All Mostly’s location, kidnapper, the direction to him, and so on, all went poorly. Extemporaneous poetry was not my strong suit, I was much better with time to re-draft several versions. Hence, the best response that I produced was an aerial view of a town at night, which I was pretty sure was Athens Ohio. In a final-desperate attempt, I recited, “Mirror, mirror, in this place. Show me an image of Mostly’s face.”

          My reflection vanished, in a quick flash of pale-bluish light. Then, the glass showed a fine-boned, teenaged, black, male. All Mostly had sharp features, triangular ears, bright-red hair with some white at the temples, and the yellow eyes of a canine. The image looked odd, until I realized that the mirror was showing me a close-up of an exceptionally well-painted portrait. I showed my allies the image, including repeating the rhyme and result later for Sean and Tegan.

          Caught somewhat off guard by the depiction, I realized that I had been imagining that All Mostly was pre-adolescent. As more pieces clicked together, it was obvious that the lad had to have been more mature, in order to have been dating Veritas. Plus, considering that my fae appearance made me seem much younger than I was, by any measure, the fox-boy could be my senior by any number of years.

          When Tallwind and Tegan did eventually exit the pub, her lily cheeks had a cheery-blossom pink blush of embarrassment. The bloomwell would not make eye contact with any of us. After glancing at my mirror trick, Tegan simply said, “Let’s go” and got into the back of my Camero.

          When the rest of us looked quizzically at our long-fingered ally, he shrugged, like a jostled deflated balloon, “I didn’t hear nothin’. The dames yakked a bit. Then the waitress grabbed Tegan’s arm, they gabbed a bit more, then it was over.”

          Shrugging, I settled into my Camero’s driver’s seat. If Veritas had done something to Tegan, then all we could do was watch for signs, since such glamours usually prevented the effected party from explaining, or even knowing, what had happened. Orange and rocky Gavin successfully took my passenger seat. Stoic Raion-ju started up his Suzuki. The rest of our team took ‘Runner’s cab. As I pulled out, I asked the pink cheeked and green eyed woman where we were headed, suggesting that she text Rai and ‘Runner the directions, as well. Tegan seemed relieved to have something different to think about, as she pulled out her own iPhone6S, and started typing. Tegan also provide me a verbal transcript, to follow to The Ridges.

Miss Bramblerose easily regained her composure, en route, As I pulled into the old asylum’s poorly-lit paved parking lot, the militaristic maiden proposed another scrying rhyme (scrhyming?). “Mirror, mirror, won’t you please. Reveal to us what Mostly sees.”

          After parking, retrieving the looking-glass, and repeating the couplet, a sparkly blue-white light passed over my reflection. The new image was a close-up view of coarse fabric. The cloth was made of two colors of material, blue and black, embroidered with a star made of sequins.

Once Raion-ju’s Suzuki and Freerunner’s taxi had parked, I showed our whole group the image. Then we ran through a round of speculation, in the darkened parking lot.

          “So,” Sean was hunched over and breathing on his distorted hands for warmth, “We’re thinking he’s in a tent of some kind?”

“A fairly showy one with those sequins.” Tegan’s own hands were in her glossy brown leather jacket’s pockets and she stood hunched, as if trying to huddle with herself for warmth—like a lone flower, in a vase, on a cold windowsill.

I had just spit out the spark of one of my wooden matches, to activate my temperature regulating glamour, so I stood relaxed with my jacket opened. “Well, that seems to lend credence to Lor’s suggestion that Mostly joined a circus.”

Although, I did suppress a small shiver, as I usually did when enacting faery magic. One of the theories, which I had uncovered during my various study sessions amongst the rare books of Sheaves & Leaves, posited that each use of glamour distanced a spirit-touched from the humanity. On the other hand, wielding real magic was exceptionally cool. Not to mention, the thrill of satisfaction from watching my glamour-shy associates shivering and chapped, while I felt only the caress of a warm summer day.

“Maybe an aquatic one, huh, Tommy?” Iron Wade, pretended not to notice the cold, as he focused dark-ringed tired grey-eyes at me, speaking like I was a young child. “You think those stars were more like starfish?”

“Uh, no...” I replied, confusion weighing down the small lift my mood had just taken, but did not get a chance to ask what Wade was going on about.

“Or, ya know,” Gavin stood like a sentry with thick rough-hewn arms crossed, “maybe Mostly was shrunk down and stuck in a pocket. I remember a magician from when I was a kid, he had sequined stars all over his outfit.”

The pocket idea did not allow for the illumination which my mirror had depicted. Besides, the sequins would have been sewn on the inside of the pocket, for Mostly to have been seeing them. Still, it was cold, so no-one felt like coming up with any more options, or prolonging the discussion by poking holes in Gavin’s idea. Instead, with polite nods, we all headed into the Asylum, in search of the Goblin Market.

 

3

Containing: a Black Forest,

bar talk, and

reflective revelations

Unsurprisingly, the tavern shared many geographic elements in common with Sheaves & Leaves. The property was down an unpaved side-road, backed on an Ohio River tributary, and had a gravel parking area. At least a hundred yards from its nearest neighbor, the buildings most telling aspect was its heftier dimensionality. Like Ariadne’s Freehold, the Black Forest seemed more real to my crystalline eyes

Although, the vehicles in the lot were quite unremarkably mundane. An old bluish Geo Metro and an even older graying-white Ford Pick-up both looked about as clean and dinged up as I would expect for their ages. On the other hand, the dozen or so other vehicles present were well maintain, while still being road-worn, Harleys. I nodded understanding to my recollection of Lor’s warning regarding the bar’s danger level, clearly he had meant the biker-gang clientele.

The building itself looked very much like it belonged in its Germanic woodland namesake. The Black Forrest Pub had a high-peaked roof on a two-story unmistakably-Tudor structure. Thick, almost-black wood-beams crossed and framed white-washed panels. Matching dark shutters adorned small windows and a brass-bound door of thick oak-planks.All of the upper windows had curtains, which blocked viewing in, while the ground floor all had closed shutters.

Two relatively small pieces of signage were visible. A weathered wood board, above the door, with “Ye Black Forest Pub” burnt into it, in an Old English style font. Also, a wood framed black enameled iron plate, affixed next to the entry, depicted a classic heraldic salamander looking back at it’s own tail, over a pair of oak-leaves crossed at their stems. Unlike Ariadne’s Freehold or the Duchies, which I had visited in the Western Territories, I saw no banding around the pub’s threshold. I suspected that the other locations used the banding as part of the magic to enforce their “no fighting on the premises” edicts. So, I found the Black Forest’s lack somewhat ominous.

The solid main-door opened into a small square-ish vestibule, which actually contained a machine for dispensing cigarette packs. I blinked at the memory of my dad telling me about the gross vending machines, from his childhood. I never imagined that I would ever see one. The tiny cell-like chamber also had a sturdy wooden chair, which supported an extremely hirsute spirit-touched. The beastling was built along the lines of Raion-ju, only with a bushy brown beard, rounded ears high on his head, and a muscle-y snout-ish face. The relaxed grizly-esque bouncer wore black-leather biker boots, blue jeans, and a black-leather vest, no shirt beyond his own reddish-brown fur. The hairy fellow set his large tankard on a small shelf, as we entered, he then nodded at as we trouped passed—an acknowledged sizing-up, rather than a greeting.

Three steps led down, from the antechamber into the spacious tavern. The décor was mainly thick dark-wood with brass accents, cross beams in the ceiling, lots of tables as well as booths, a very large roaring fireplace, and a central bar. I noted possible bolt-holes, should any real danger arise, toilet doors—one each, for males and females, double swing-doors to what must have been kitchen, another a set of double doors were open to a side banquette/special-events room, and an opening with stairs which appeared to lead up to the second floor.

A full-size pig looked small as it roasted on a spit over the two or three burning tree trunks within the fireplace. The aroma of roast meat, as well as hops, reached into my nose and gave my brain a hug, so tight that it squeezed extra saliva into my mouth.

The bar was a three-sixty design, like in the old TV show Cheers, with stools all the way around. The bar’s top was polished to the point that it glowed with reflected light, from the fireplace and candles, in wall sconces and table votives. Two waitresses placed and picked up orders with the lone bartender working the island-like station.

In addition to the trio of employees, there were fifteen or twenty customers. Spying only spirit touched, I wondered if the bear-beastling bouncer refused entrance to normans. I also noted that no-one sat at the well lit bar. Several people did sit individually amongst the more shrouded booths and tables. However, the majority of the customers clustered around two tables which had been pushed together. 

The large double-table group clearly belonged to the motorcycles parked out front. They wore biker leathers with lots of studs, zippers, and chains. While there were several types of spirit-touched features within the gang, most of them looked more like razorback boars. In fact, the porcine-beastlings were less man-like than most changelings that I had seen—reminding me of hairy versions of the guards from Jabba the Hutt’s palace, only truly fleshy and scary, unlike the obviously rubbery muppets.

Everyone, in the pub, seemed pretty casual, much like the guests and members of Ariadne’s Freehold, Hawk Wood’s Salamander Mound, the Pleasure gardens of d’Or, and the like. Outside of such secured places, spirit-touched tended to be more nervous, defensive, and generally high-strung. So, at least that “is it safe to talk fae stuff” part of my mind could relax. Thus, freeing up more brain power for worrying about accidentally offending gang members, or giving away mission details that Ms. Frost would want kept secret.

Our party definitely garnered looks, as we entered, however no perceptively deep interest or hostility, not even—and thankfully—from the bikers. The seven of us moved en mass, to the largest booth and only needed to add one additional chair, from an empty table. Had stony Gavin or felinoid Rai been proportioned like more average people, we would not have even needed the spare seat. 

Our waitress practically zipped over, her long silvery straight-hair almost sticking out behind her, as she glided around the various chairs and tables. The elfin lass introduced herself as Aurora, she had a vibrant all American Midwestern beauty and smiled a bright-white sparkling smile. Considering the strongly themed décor, I was surprised that the staff did not wear traditional Bavarian, or October-fest, garb. Instead our cute waitress wore a simple dark green blouse tucked into relaxed fit blue jeans, fancy Nike sneakers, and an apron with pockets. Aurora was cheerful and friendly, although barely stood still long enough to take our orders, or deliver them, before she was off to treat her other customers the same way.

The limited menu was only a chalkboard, above the bar. The bulk of the offered selections constituted a couple score of beers, ales, and lagers—mostly house special micro-brews. Though, there were a half-dozen food items, each featuring roast pork—except the salad, which could still get pork added. My companions ordered basic sounding beers and ales from the menu and some of them got food. I ordered the butt, belly, and cheese sandwich and felt adventurous enough to try the featured Black Forest Red Ale.

Before Aurora took our order, Tegan Bramblerose had decided to take point, in our investigation. The auburn-haired temptress engaged the bartender, in some conversation. Since the two were a third of the way across the tavern and speaking casually, it was impossible to overhear what was said. So, the best that I could do was try and assess body language.

The Caucasian featured bartender’s hair was short-ish blond and his skin tone was a variety of earthy reds and browns, in finger-wide horizontal bands, like geologic strata. Otherwise, the bartender simply seemed politely neutral in his stance and facial expressions.

I looked around my table. Since I had done the only investigating at Hawk Wood, I was inclined to let the other follow Tegan’s lead and interact with the various potential sources of information arrayed within the pub. I quickly dismissed any notion of either introverted ‘Runner or Rai, following through with any such activity. The one was a computer programmer turned nervous cabbie and the other an engineer turned loafer. On the other hand, grumpy Sean Tallwind theoretically had his PI skills, the usually gregarious Gavin Granitbane must have had to question strangers as a fireman, and Iron Wade the Man of Steal had been a teacher and coach who must have dealt with communicating to new students annually. I could only shake my head in slow disbelief, that my significant glances failed to provoke any response from my cohorts.

We had all undergone horrific traumas, at the hands of our Keepers. Traumas which had made each of us twitchy about all sorts of things. So, I certainly grasped that talking to unchanged mortals, might make some spirit-touched self-conscious, especially freshly liberated individuals such as my group. Also, I understood that fae might find it hard to interact with new changelings because the others could be so disturbing in various ways. I, for instance, found dealing with darklings, or the phlegmatically humored, or pretty ladies (if I must be honest), difficult for various reasons. However, hard or uncomfortable did not mean impossible. Nor did it excuse that five of my six companions being incapable of talking to anyone, most of the time! Slumped back, crossing my arms and mentally kicked myself for ever having agreed to join a promise with these doofs. 

Now I was obligated to Jesse Frost whether my haven-mates did anything or not. I imagined that the wintery Regent would be disappointed and un-accepting if merely told that “an effort had been made”. Unlike my associates, I also had the sense to be afraid of what Ms. Frost, or the Gyr, would do to us, if we did not fulfill our bargain. If it was just Jesse Frost’s wrath, I might be able to make it to the Red Court and hide there. Not that I really believed the situation warranted a strategic retreat. Regardless my research of spirit-touched had been clear, the Gyr tainted oathbreakers, so that all fae could perceive their duplicitous natures, no matter how far one may run.

I had to stop wallowing in my outrage. So, I convinced myself that, my own Summerfire’s Grace helped me rise to the challenge, while each of my colleagues were failed by their chosen seasonal devotions. Plus, I grew tired of leaving Tegan to fly as solo as my allies had all left me, back at the Barrow Mound. Of course, my table-mates utter lack of conversation was not exactly riveting me in place, either. Additionally, I might score some “good guy” points with Tegan, if she saw me being helpful, while the others were not. 

As the fair Bramblerose seemed to be working the employee angle, I chose to approach some customers. I did not feel like interrupting anyone’s intimate evening or private time, though, so I got up and headed to the biker gang. Suspecting there was a fairly high chance that I might accidentally offend the bikers, I also made an effort to forestall that by stepping over to Aurora first and ordering the gang a round of drinks. In truth part of me toyed with the idea of pissing the bikers off on purpose, because then I knew my cohorts would get involved. Unfortunately, that would not teach my associates to talk to others, would fail to get us any closer to finding All Mostly, and would almost certainly just result in more people dying.

The bikers out numbered my gang and most of them were built like Rai or Gavin. Plus, since most of the strangers were of a boar-like appearance, they were the largest grouping of same-type spirit-touched that I had seen, since the redcaps—a very negative association to me. Also, this was not some mundane parking lot. The salamander plaque on the door indicated that the pub was Hawk Wood Court territory and the crossed leaves probably meant a specific political sub-set. So, I really wanted to avoid starting anything which would garner the attentions of those factions.

After waiting for Aurora to start delivering the drinks, I stepped up to the gang. Staying at, what I estimated to be, just outside any of their easy reach, I smile, “Hi,” I swept my opened-palm in an arcing wave, across my chest, “I’m Twilight Tommy, I was hoping you all might answer a few questions.”

The dude that I had guessed was the leader was the second biggest of the gang, had the largest tusks, and was one of several with a lady on his lap. The woman, in question, also happened to be one of the few gang members not of a porcine nature. Rather, the lass was cherubically plump with dark black-brown skin streaked with veins of lighter green-brown and her hair looked like tight curls of dark-green moss. Leader-guy spoke with a heavy smoker’s rumble, “You some sort of reporter, Tinkerbelle?”

There was chuckling from his cohorts.

“Nope,” I waved a palm in gentle dismissal, “I’m just new in town and looking for someone, I was told that he used to hang out hear. I’m guessing your club travels around in the area a bit and might have seen or heard of the guy. Or maybe you travel farther afield and can confirm if this guy was south of Ohio.”

Pig-face-#1 grunted and drank some of the beer for which I had paid. “What’d this guy do to you?”

I blinked in confusion at the assumption, “Uh, nothing… yet.” My mind raced to concoct a plausible lie. “He’s supposed to be holding something for me and I want to settle up.”

“Whatchoo need pretty boy? MJ, blow, Oxi? I’m the guy your lookin’ for. We heard there’s space in town and are looking to build up a clientele, after all.”

One of the other gang pig-beastlings agreed in a nasally voice, “Heh, heh, yeah Boss, like we’re like small business entrepreneurs. Heh, heh.” Some of the others chuckled along.

“Uh, no thanks.” Again I scrambled for a reasonable falsehood, “I’m not looking for drugs right now. My guy is supposed to be setting me up with a place and some contacts.” I made sure to stay focused on the leader, while trying to track the others with my peripheral vision. “So, have you seen or heard of him? Goes by All Mostly, or just Mostly, young looking with fox-like features?”

“Naw, I don’t know ‘im.” The leader snorted again and shrugged, forcing his lap girl to hang on jiggling, then glanced around his table, “Anyone know anything about this Mostly twerp?”

The gang replied with various Noes, nopes, and head shakes.

“Okay,” letting my shoulders slump, “well thanks anyway.” I considered pumping some wyrd into my Fairest Tongue glamour, however that would only help me say the right sort of things to the boar-beastlings, which did not matter since I believed that they were speaking true.

Aurora was back, serving one of the bikers, so I had the frenetic waitress get the gang another round on me and left their company. I did not like rewarding the scumbags, however they had said that they were moving into town. So, I chose to leave a positive impression of me in their minds, in case I had the future misfortune to encounter any of them again. 

Active Tegan and I returned to our own gang, at about the same time. Aurora having delivered our food, moments earlier. My expression must have betrayed my generally bitter mood. Because Gavin asked “What’s the matter, Tommy?” as his blue-marble eyes tracked from me to the bikers.

“Uh, nothing, exactly.” I answered as I took my seat next to ‘Runner. “All I found out, for sure, is that they offered to sell me drugs… But, I got the impression that they’re in town because they heard that the redcaps are gone and these guys want to fill that space.”

Admittedly, I was jumping some pretty large suppositional gaps to land at that conclusion. Even so, my speculation caused my party to eat in grim silence for a few moments. Thus, affording me time to savor my first few bights. My sandwich was juicy, not too fatty, and very large. The deceptively simple sandwich really shined when it did interesting flavorful things in conjunction with my dark ale. 

Then, the moment of peace was over, as Iron Wade made some sort of weird comment about luaus being better after high tide. Wrinkled Sean and my hairy neighbor chuckled, while the rest of us were baffled. 

“Anyway,” Tegan rolled her bright viridescent-eyes and set her mug on the table, “the bartender’s called Horst the Host, I think he’s also the owner. He says that Mostly hasn’t been around in a few weeks, but he used to come in regular.” With a nod towards the dark-haired waitress, serving the other side of the room. “Horst’s pretty sure that Mostly was dating Veritas.” She tucked her dark-red hair back behind each elegantly tapered ear. “I’m guessing that a male will have better luck talking to her.” 

Our five companions stared, or drank their beers, as if they did not understand English. So, I sighed and rolled my amber-eyes, as I finished my mouthful of amazingly yummy smoked pork and fancy German cheese on fresh baked rye. Then I left my half eaten sandwich and walked over to the quieter side of the bar.

While approaching the dark-haired elfin waitress, I considered my angle. I did not want to bother or annoy the lass, which tended to run counter my clumsy speech patterns. Especially, when I was talking to a pretty lady. On the other hand, I wanted to fulfill our agreement with Jesse Frost, sooner rather than later. My racing thoughts careened around a dozen variants on what to day, what not to say, and what the consequences of messing up might be. So, failed to consider tipping the scales in my favor, via glamours. 

Veritas’s features were distinctly Mediterranean, like a textbook direction of Greco-Roman sculpture. The waitress was also as tall as me, with tan-olive skin, long curly-brunet hair cascading to her mid-back, pointy ears barely peaked through the dark ringlets, while her polished amethyst irises were surrounded by bloodshot puffiness. Veritas looked as if she had stepped out of an old movie portrayal of stereotypical Gypsy’s, in a dark-red present’s dress, white blouse embroidered with grape vines, sandals, and an apron like Aurora’s. The only deviation was small purple-glass grape-cluster earrings, instead of low hanging gold hoops.

“Um, excuse me, uh Veritas, is it?” I intercepted the sad lass without food or drink in her hands and off to the side, away from her handful of customers.

“Huh? Oh, Veri, you can call me Veri. Everyone around here does.” Her voice was a little raspy and tired, while her body language seemed to be a controlled parody of relaxed.

“Alright, uh, Veri, um, most people call me Tommy.” She nodded, I continued. “Um, I, uh… I’m not sure how to ask this…”

Veri shifted her weight to one foot, placed a counter balancing hand on her hip, and looked at me like she had lots of much better things to be doing.

“So, um. Yeah, fine…” I resolved for the direct approach, “You know Mostly, ah, right?”

Everything about Veri tensed and her full wine-red lips became very thin. She spoke tersely, “What do you know about Mostly?!”

“Nothing.” I flinched back, raising my hands to waist height, defensively. “I mean, um, I just know that he hasn’t been around for a while. And, uh, I was told to talk to him. I heard you two went together for a while and wondered if you could, um, tell me where he was, or get a message to him?”

“No,” Veri’s voice softened and her violet-gem eyes started to glisten with moisture, “I don’t know where he is.”

“Oh…” I was about to change the subject, to avoid the looming tears, then I remembered Lor’s guess. “I heard, uh, that he might be partying down in Miami. Is that, um, something that he does a lot? And does he, uh, usually stay long?”

The red-rimmed amethysts snapped and stabbed into my eyes. Veri’s brow was creased and when she spoke her voice was tight with anger or hurt, for some reason. “I’m sure that I wouldn’t know.” She turned away, “I’m busy working, I don’t have time to talk to you.” Then she stormed into the ladies room.

I was shaking my head in slow confusion, as I returned to my party’s booth. My plate was empty. At least, my ale was still there.

“So, how’d it go Sebastian?” Iron Wade smirked at me.

I could not be bothered to add that nomenclature to my mental pile of confusion. “Nothing specific or useful.” I half shrugged. ”She definitely seemed to know Mostly and was upset at the mention of him. Whether she was feeling guilty for Mostly’s disappearance or just missed him, I couldn’t tell…. Oh, and most people call her Veri.”

Which prompted a few minutes of spit-balling ideas for next moves. Not that I believed anyone other than Tegan was about to make any actual moves.

“Well errgh,” Freerunner did garumph one key element, “if we rrrrreally think that Veri urm is involved, then rrmph I can rrerr glamourrr some ferrits to uurrr trail herrr when she urrf leaves hererer.”

Sean wobbled his jowls in a nod, “Yeah, then if she contacts either Mostly or his kidnappers, we can have some idea where and how.”

“I do have a couple more ideas.” Miss Bramblerose was staring thoughtfully into her nearly empty stein. “First, I want to try talking to Veri on my own.” She shrugged. “Sort of girl to girl. So, it’ll be best for the rest of you to wait outside.”

The rest of us nodded. I smiled at Tegan also referring to us as a gang, even though I tended to mean it more seriously than she seemed to. My smile was also connected to imaginings of what the alluring bloomwell might do to convince the emotionally-vulnerable and equally attractive Veritas, in order to be more talkative… Knowing that it was an adolescent male fantasy, did not stop my musings from sweetening my otherwise sour mood.

“But after that,” determined Miss Bramblerose had continued speaking, “I think that we’ll probably need to go to this other place that Horst mentioned, the Goblin Market.”

“The what now?” Weathered Wade almost choked on his beer.

Tegan shrugged, causing her green flannel shirt to once more fail at obscuring her curves, “Apparently it’s a sort of monthly swap-meet and a big deal for the spirit-touched around here. The way Horst tells it, you can get anything that you’re looking for at the Goblin Market.” She finished her drink. “I guess it’s only open for like four or five days and it just started for this month.”

“Well, heck,” Tallwind rubbed his hands together gleefully, the elongated fingers intertwining like a pair of daddy-longlegs wrestling, “if they got whatever we want, then they must have a tool that’ll lead us to the Mostly kid.”

Tegan’s freckled heart-shaped face nodded agreement, “Or, at least, better information.”

Then Ms. Bramblerose shooed the rest of us away, so that she could try to talk with Veri. Sean insisted on lingering inside, near the door, while the rest of us waited by the cars in the lot. The crotchety gnarling made some half-assed claim to be making sure that nubile Tegan could exit, if her conversation turned ugly. Personally, I believed that Sean was just hoping to see the petite auburn-haired beauty come onto the dark gypsy of a waitress.

While the five of us waited outside for our most and least attractive members, Freerunner cast a couple of glamours. The furry athletically-built lad summoned a few ferrets and chittered at them in their language. After a few minutes, the fuzzy tubes bounded into the overgrown grass, near the parking area, presumably to wait and watch for Veri.

As my whisker-faced compatriot was about his magics, it occurred to me that I might employ some of my own. I pulled forth the silver-filigreed hand-mirror, which I always kept with me, either in my jacket pocket or Coach messenger bag. Since the grooming aid was also a magical scrying device, I felt it was simply too valuable to leave lying around, even at our group’s secured oak-haven. Even though, I tended to purposefully forget the device, since it had once revealed me to my Keeper. 

On the other hand, Sean Tallwind’s interest in buying a tracking tool at the Goblin Market, had forcibly reminded me that I had such a magic already. So, if I really did want to resolve the Mostly hunt quickly, U might as well try it. 

Unfortunately, like all faery magic, my mirror was not very precise. The silver-handled looking-glass required a rhyme to activate its revelatory power, however the quality, context, and specificity of the poem determined the clarity and accuracy of the result. Furthermore, the looking-glass had no sentience. Functioning like a poorly coded search engine, the mirror only revealed the top result, based on the limits of the lyrical data that it was given.

Even so, I leaned against my muscle-car and attempted a few improvised rhymes. Trying to identify All Mostly’s location, kidnapper, the direction to him, and so on, all went poorly. Extemporaneous poetry was not my strong suit, I was much better with time to re-draft several versions. Hence, the best response that I produced was an aerial view of a town at night, which I was pretty sure was Athens Ohio. In a final-desperate attempt, I recited, “Mirror, mirror, in this place. Show me an image of Mostly’s face.”

My reflection vanished, in a quick flash of pale-bluish light. Then, the glass showed a fine-boned, teenaged, black, male. All Mostly had sharp features, triangular ears, bright-red hair with some white at the temples, and the yellow eyes of a canine. The image looked odd, until I realized that the mirror was showing me a close-up of an exceptionally well-painted portrait. I showed my allies the image, including repeating the rhyme and result later for Sean and Tegan. 

Caught somewhat off guard by the depiction, I realized that I had been imagining that All Mostly was pre-adolescent. As more pieces clicked together, it was obvious that the lad had to have been more mature, in order to have been dating Veritas. Plus, considering that my fae appearance made me seem much younger than I was, by any measure, the fox-boy could be my senior by any number of years.

When Tallwind and Tegan did eventually exit the pub, her lily cheeks had a cheery-blossom pink blush of embarrassment. The bloomwell would not make eye contact with any of us. After glancing at my mirror trick, Tegan simply said, “Let’s go” and got into the back of my Camero. 

When the rest of us looked quizzically at our long-fingered ally, he shrugged, like a jostled deflated balloon, “I didn’t hear nothin’. The dames yakked a bit. Then the waitress grabbed Tegan’s arm, they gabbed a bit more, then it was over.”

Shrugging, I settled into my Camero’s driver’s seat. If Veritas had done something to Tegan, then all we could do was watch for signs, since such glamours usually prevented the effected party from explaining, or even knowing, what had happened. Orange and rocky Gavin successfully took my passenger seat. Stoic Raion-ju started up his Suzuki. The rest of our team took ‘Runner’s cab. As I pulled out, I asked the pink cheeked and green eyed woman where we were headed, suggesting that she text Rai and ‘Runner the directions, as well. Tegan seemed relieved to have something different to think about, as she pulled out her own iPhone6S, and started typing. Tegan also provide me a verbal transcript, to follow to The Ridges.

Miss Bramblerose easily regained her composure, en route, As I pulled into the old asylum’s poorly-lit paved parking lot, the militaristic maiden proposed another scrying rhyme (scrhyming?). “Mirror, mirror, won’t you please. Reveal to us what Mostly sees.”

After parking, retrieving the looking-glass, and repeating the couplet, a sparkly blue-white light passed over my reflection. The new image was a close-up view of coarse fabric. The cloth was made of two colors of material, blue and black, embroidered with a star made of sequins. 

Once Raion-ju’s Suzuki and Freerunner’s taxi had parked, I showed our whole group the image. Then we ran through a round of speculation, in the darkened parking lot. 

“So,” Sean was hunched over and breathing on his distorted hands for warmth, “We’re thinking he’s in a tent of some kind?”

“A fairly showy one with those sequins.” Tegan’s own hands were in her glossy brown leather jacket’s pockets and she stood hunched, as if trying to huddle with herself for warmth—like a lone flower, in a vase, on a cold windowsill.

I had just spit out the spark of one of my wooden matches, to activate my temperature regulating glamour, so I stood relaxed with my jacket opened. “Well, that seems to lend credence to Lor’s suggestion that Mostly joined a circus.”

Although, I did suppress a small shiver, as I usually did when enacting faery magic. One of the theories, which I had uncovered during my various study sessions amongst the rare books of Sheaves & Leaves, posited that each use of glamour distanced a spirit-touched from the humanity. On the other hand, wielding real magic was exceptionally cool. Not to mention, the thrill of satisfaction from watching my glamour-shy associates shivering and chapped, while I felt only the caress of a warm summer day. 

“Maybe an aquatic one, huh, Tommy?” Iron Wade, pretended not to notice the cold, as he focused dark-ringed tired grey-eyes at me, speaking like I was a young child. “You think those stars were more like starfish?”

“Uh, no...” I replied, confusion weighing down the small lift my mood had just taken, but did not get a chance to ask what Wade was going on about.

“Or, ya know,” Gavin stood like a sentry with thick rough-hewn arms crossed, “maybe Mostly was shrunk down and stuck in a pocket. I remember a magician from when I was a kid, he had sequined stars all over his outfit.”

The pocket idea did not allow for the illumination which my mirror had depicted. Besides, the sequins would have been sewn on the inside of the pocket, for Mostly to have been seeing them. Still, it was cold, so no-one felt like coming up with any more options, or prolonging the discussion by poking holes in Gavin’s idea. Instead, with polite nods, we all headed into the Asylum, in search of the Goblin Market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Containing: the Goblin Market entrance,

browsing, and

niggling revelations

Originally called the Athens Lunatic Asylum, the landmark building which my party stalked towards had been renamed the Ridges several years back, although most locals still just referred to it as the Asylum. It really had been a mental care facility for over a hundred years, closing down sometime in the early 1990s. Rumors abounded about ghosts still haunting the building, ranging from children, to murderous madmen, all the way back to Civil War veterans. Since its decommissioning, the Asylum was purchased by Ohio University and used for a variety of offices, classrooms, and storage facilities, as well as an art museum and an auditorium.

          Less well known, the Asylum was yet another fae related location which abutted the Ohio River. I made a mental note to look into the waterway’s history and rivers in general, more closely, as six of us followed Tegan around to the back. Apparently, Horst had instructed the auburn-haired lass to enter a specific door. I thought that I could almost hear a faint plucky-tune and the chatter of many distant voices, although the latter may have been the susurrations’ of the nearby river.

The three-story brick building was as dull and flat as the rest if the mundane world, until the designated emergency-exit came into view. The plane grey-metal fire-door had no handle or hinges on our side, yet it did virtually bulge into the world with the “brighter” richness of otherworldliness. Once at the safety exit, Tegan tentatively reached to were a latch should have been and swung it effortlessly open.

“Hmph.” Came Iron Wade’s dry disapproval. “The door’s been bent. Just a bit,” he pointed at the offending location, “just enough to prevent it from latching.” He snorted. “There’s way more subtle ways to achieve that.”

          Inside, the cinderblock walls and linoleum floors smelled of old cleansers. Our footfalls and whispered comments echoed back and forth along the tunnel-like passage. Yet, I still felt as if I could hear the music and voices, neither more or less clear than they had been outside.

My colleagues lack of reaction reflected with their typical mixture of blithe unawareness and criminal familiarity. Personally, I was torn between affecting a similar nonchalance, or moving with tense expectation for having effectively broken into a possibly patrolled building. Opting in favor of personal peace of mind, I increased the luminance of my faery-light aura. In spite of the activated acid-green plastic Glo-Sticks, which had been casually strewn every dozen paces or so, as a path. Although, the haphazardness of the glowing tubes may just as easily been the remnants of a rave, or collegiate prank.

          On the third floor, our troupe saw faint light spilling into the hall, from pair of double-doors, mid-way along. A guitar player sat on a stool, within the dim wash of luminance. Still the only definitive sounds remained our own echoing movements, in spite of the musician’s appearing to play and sing. Right up until, the seven of us were within just a few paces of the opened doors. Then, the light intensified to nearly daylight brightness and the faint half-heard bustling noises resolved into a crowded market and the music of the spirit-touched bard, seated before it.

          Through the standard institutional double-doors, fae of all shapes, sizes, and colors, could be seen walking around, amongst equally eclectic booths and tents. The musician on his backless stool sat far enough into the hall so as to not block entrance or egress to the Goblin Market..

          The musician’s only garment was a pair of khaki slacks, his body was covered in short dark grey fur and he was very bat-like. The minstrel had clawed fingers and toes, a piggy nose, beady eyes, large wide pointed ears, and floor-length skin hanging from his wrists to his sides. Up close. The beastling’s instrument was not actually a guitar, instead it was one of the more old time-y sort—a lute or a lyre. Every few minutes the bard would play and sing the same song, over and over.

_Need something that’s hard to catch?_

_Need a little something for your fetch?_

_Come and bargain for a stretch at the Goblin Market._

_Before we fill your every need,_

_You’ll have to understand our creed:_

_Rule breakers all have to bleed at the Goblin Market_

_Pax is the first rule of the stall, be peaceful or do not come at all_

_What merchants promise the item can do, you can trust that it is true_

_Deal is a deal, no less or more, both must deliver what they bargained for_

_No refunds or exchanges, if there is a new deal, prepare for changes_

_Market does come and go, arriving at the crescent moon’s glow_

_Gloves as soft as a passing thought?_

_A love philter or a dreaming drought?_

_Magical things that you thought were lost are found at the Goblin Market_

          “Hey, that’s catchy.” Gavin tapped his heavy steel toed boot.

          The seven of us had only caught the last part of the song and stayed in the hall for the full next run through.

          “You caught the words, right?” Sean grumped.

          Gavin raised and lowered a square shoulder, ”Something about making deals, _At the Goblin Market_.” singing the line from the song.

          Tallwind rolled his mud-brown eyes and shook his creased head, then jabbed a long pointy thumb towards the batty singer. “That’s the rules he’s singin’. Boils down to: the vendors do not lie about their wares and all sales are final, any returns are treated as whole new deals. And, no fightin’.”

          “Pretty err crowded.” Fuzzy Freerunner observed, looking past the musician as the bat-guy started on the song again. “Gonna be urmph hard to stay rrrgh together.”

          Checking our phones verified that there was no service, yet the they still powered on. So, the clocks worked. The seven of us agreed that splitting up would be most efficient and that we would reconvene at the Market’s entrance in two hours. Even so, going solo seemed unnecessarily incautious. Therefore, I took a moment to assess which of my companions to stay near.

Beauteous martial-arts mistress Tegan was, of course, my first choice. However, I worried that I might cramp the aromatic lady’s style, plus the two of us had proven to be the most capable negotiators, and it was more important that our mission succeed, than I enjoy my company. So, I fell in next to Gavin’s orange mass, as my standard second choice. Heavily muscled and with rescue training the rocky Mr. Granitbane was also my comrade most likely to both notice if I was in danger and step in to save me, while also likely to benefit from my communication skills.

          The Goblin Market had a haphazard and cobbled together appearance, both on a vendor by vendor and overall basis. Stalls, tents, and booths were made from found material, more often than not, and were spread out in disorderly-meandering rows. Most of the shops were too tall to see over, so no layout could be easily assessed. The lanes between the vendors were filled, although not shoulder to shoulder, with browsing shoppers going in every available direction. The majority of sellers were goblins, though some spirit-touched hawked wares from carried trays or poles or the linings of their long coats.

          Adding to the disorientation problem, the Market was bigger than the mortal building in which it was set. While the walls, floor, and ceiling seemed to retain there original shapes, the interior dimensions simply held more tents and whatnot, than could have been normally possible. The florescent lighting, much higher over head than it should be, even still flickered and buzzed out sickly electric illumination. It was weirdly as if the goblins used an opposite sort of magic to Ariadne’s Freehold, pushing the Briar into the normal world, instead of adding normalcy to the Briar.

Gavin made a beeline for a pair of big brutes. The eight or nine foot tall brutes had clubby gorilla-like proportions, were mostly hairless, except for purplish tufts behind large round-ears. Their skin was a medium grey and they had oversized lower jaws to support two spade-shaped pearly tusks jutting upwards.

My first thought was that I had chosen poorly and should have went with Freerunner. Then, I saw that the two apish hulks wore matching uniforms, simple belted tabards of dark blue with a moon on the front, and either shorts or loincloths. Which prompted me to stretch my neck and peer around the throngs of milling and meandering fae. Similarly dressed teams of two ape-boar-thugs stood at each of the irregular intersections that I could see. So, concluded that they were guards, I imagined that Gavin may have chosen right to approach the nearest duo.

          My ruddy-orange associate stopped in front of the theoretic security guards, “Excuse me, can either of you direct me to an information booth?”

          I smiled with relief that Mr. Granitbane had assumed that the big brutes’ job was something other than telling wanderers about the Market. On the other hand, the stocky guards blinked beady yellow-eyes at Gavin, probably trying to decide whether to be irritated with the question outside their job description, or laugh at the silly newb.

The marginally smaller of the two settled on curt uncertainty. “You want somat ta give youz information?” his throaty growl was like listening boulders being gargled.

          Unfazed, jovial and optimistic Gavin nodded and smiled, “Yes, I want someone who can tell were things may be found here…” the big man only hesitated slightly before finishing in a sing-song tone, “ _At the Goblin Market_.”

          The thick hide of the enforcer’s grey-brow knitted together in further confusion. Now I was certain that the ape-ish individuals were trying to decide if they were being mocked, or was Gavin just one of the more crazy spirit-touched. “Youz should talk to da Grawlis.” The talkative one finally grunted and nodded towards a goblin sitting on a stool, in the lane, a short ways off.

          Mr. Granitbane thanked the guards, touching two brick-ish fingers to his pebbled brow, in a sort of solute/tip of the hat gesture. Then, I followed Gavin over to “da Grawlis, who sat upon a bar stool, in the middle of a busy walkway, surrounded by a fairly well-wore red-velvet rope on tarnished brass poles. The cordon barely offered an arms length or parameter, yet did keep the goblin from being jostled.

Reaching a closer perspective, the goblin was small, though the stool raised him (a guess, as goblin gender was nominal at best) to my height and he wore a wooden sign, on a hemp cord, around his neck—“The Grawlis”. The bored looking goblin rubbery dark-green greasy-skin, beady black-eyes, one smallish ear and the other easily five-times too large, and wisps of wiry black-hair growing irregularly from head, face, and hands. Other than the sign, the Grawlis only wore to articles of clothing, pink and white checked baggy sack-cloth pants and a grimy butchers apron.

In time, I would come to understand that mismatched body proportions and eclectic fashion sense were par for the course with all goblins. Pretty much the only characteristic that goblins shared was green skin and even that could range widely in hue. At the time, I jotted a reminder in my pocket notepad, to investigate the possible connection with stories of little green men. When I followed through on that research later, though, I found no link. However, I would discover that the prevailing theory of spirit-touched scholars was that goblins were neither changelings—twisted into shape by the Folk—nor Hobkin—mundane animals or plants transformed via the raw wild-magics of the Thorny Between. Instead, goblins were supposedly a sentient race, wholly native to the Briar. For the time being, I simply accepted what goblins as they were, just like all of the other fae which I had encountered.

          Gavin strode to the little goblin's rope barrier. “You are the Grawlis?”

          “Duh.” The Grawlis replied and looked Gavin up and down. “Whadda youz want?” His Bronx by way of Boston tone was confrontational.

          Jovial Gavin was caught off guard by the Grawlis’s abruptness, yet he rallied. “One of the security guards,” he pointed a squarish digit back the relevant direction, “said that you could provide information, about the market.”

          “What’s it ta you?” the rubbery goblin sneered.

          “My friend and I,” Gavin gestured, effectively dragging me into the conversation, "are looking for a striped tent with silver stars on it?”

          “Ah,” I amended quickly, “we’re looking for a merchant that uses such a tent.”

          My bodybuilder colleague nodded, not appearing to notice the distinction that I made.

          “What’s it wurt ta ya?” the Grawlis sniped.

         Gavin stammered, uncertain whether the goblin was just generally unpleasant or if he simply did care for us in particular. I reminded the orange earth-elemental, under my breath, “This isn’t a mall in the suburbs. Nothing is free at the Goblin Market, not even directions.”

          To my amusement, rough-hewn Gavin pulled a couple of Nutri-Grain breakfast bars from a pocket and pitched them as “full meal satisfaction”. To my astonishment, the Grawlis agreed to the exchange. Gavin’s smug expression indicated that he believed he had gotten one over on the goblin. The Grawlis, meanwhile, just looked like he had wanted a snack.

          After slipping the granola bars into his apron pocket, the rubbery-green fellow said, “Dere’s Pauley da Tinker, ‘is tent’s pretty faded, but I’m fairly sure its gotta stripes ‘n’ stars. Da other place, I knows, is Vladimir’s menagerie…”

          “Ah?...” Gavin blinked at the unfamiliar word.

          The Grawlis and I both rolled our eyes, he clarified. “Vlad sells livestock, like animals for work or pets or whatever.” With Gavin’s nod of comprehension, the Grawlis went on to provide rough directions to both stalls, concluding with, “at least that’s where dey usually likes ta set up. Tent’s ain’t meant ta stay put, after all.”

 

I made an effort to avoid looking like a rube rubber-necker, as Gavin and I headed for the tinker’s nick-knack stall. My rocky red-orange ally had no trouble single-mindedly stalking forward, like a mobile wall. Gavin’s rough muscle-bound frame only altered course to avoid objects larger than himself. While I had to walk next to and slightly behind my companion, traveling in the wake that he left through the sea of un-humanity.

The market goers and their garments came in shapes, sizes, colors, and decorations that could boggle the mind. Thanks to my recent time spent at Ariadne’s Freehold and the duchies of the Red Court, I built up a resistance to such overwhelming diversity. A task made easier for the sounds and smells were for more mundane than the sights—over used frying oil, sugar and spiced roasted-nuts, body odors (people’s and animal’s), popcorn, stale beer, hay, and so on. Essentially, the same as any carnival or craft show, which I had attended in my mortal life.

Though, I did find myself coping with the related memories of having been dragged to many of those fairs by my mother, who enjoyed collecting handcrafted gewgaws. To distract myself from the chest tightening and eye-watering memories, I turned my attention to making note of the various stall-shops. Primarily, I wanted to be able to find my own way back to the entrance. However, with the promise of anything being available _At the Goblin Market_ , I also hoped to find something which might help find Mostly and possibly something for myself.

Assuming that I could find anything for which I was willing to pay the price, of course. Since I had already come across some references to goblin deal-making, in my studies of fae culture, and saw consistently that money was never the cost of a goblin’s wares. Rather, goblins sought the rarest of objects, or better yet, service or memories or experiences. I had no rare items, with which I was willing to part, and I was not likely to be willing to enter any kind of servitude, nor exactly what trading a memory would entail. So, I expected that regardless what treasures I discovered, I would only be browsing.

Most of the tents (only a few of the vendors used shacks or kiosks) were roughly a dozen-feet square. Although, I fully expected to encounter more larger-on-the-inside architecture. Colors and qualities of the shops varied as widely as the goblins own appearances, no two shared more than a basic structural similarity and even then there were exceptions. I never thought to see how the supports for the pavilions were affixed, be it base frames or magical tent pegs.

The only non-goblins merchants, that I witnessed, were of the wondering barker variety.

          I found myself having wandered into a wall-less pavilion, admiring a scarf of flickering-blue fire. The shop was filled with racks, displaying wondrous articles of clothing—various elemental scarves, a cloak of fog, coat of brooding, cat-step boots, and more. I was fascinated with ideas of what some of the garments might be able to do.

The “male” proprietor stepped over to me, with a silken grace. The goblin had wild white hair like a dandelion puff, acid-green skin, teeny tiny ears, and boggly forest-green eyes. He wore a tailored pant, shirt, and waistcoat, all in the same shade of mustard yellow, including his pointy Italian-looking shoes—no tie, though.

“You like de scarf of cold-fire.” The neon colored proprietor stated more than asked in an almost falsetto voice with a slight smoker’s rasp and the hint of an Italian or Spanish accent. “Dis scarf, she will be bery handsome on you.”

          “Hmm, It is a fine scarf.” I replied with as much disinterest as I could muster, considering how unlikely it was I would be able to afford anything in the goblin’s shop. “What are you, ah, asking for it?”

          “Oh, is only your first kiss.” The goblin sounded as if that was more than reasonable.

          I had only returned to my mortal memories less than a month ago. I still had huge gaps regarding my captivity. Plus, as unsettling as those blank spots were, the memories which _had_ resurfaced tended to be even more upsetting. Even so, I was reticent to give up any of what I recalled, especially the reassuring human moments. Certainly, not for a pretty scarf.

The goblin in yellow sensed my hesitation and tried for an up-sell. “Better for you,” he said reaching into a large cardboard box and pulling forth a pale grey jumpsuit, “is a suit of moonbeams, yes?”

          The unitard-like garment rippled in the near non-existent wafts of air. The cloth seemed opalescent and shadowy and not quite solid. I swallowed hard, knowing full well that if I found the cost of the scarf excessive, then there was no way that I even wanted to hear the asking price of the moonbeam-suit.

“Um, I’m not sure that I need any help with the moonlight thing.” I feigned disinterest and then tested my bartering, just in case. “I would be happy to provide a hand crafted poem for the scarf, though.”

          “Hmm,” the goblin considered my offer a moment, “You have a poem about heartache, or a murder, perhaps? It would enhance de Coat of Regrets.”

          “Uh, no, not at this time.” I shook my head.

          However, I was encouraged by the proprietors response. So the two of us bandied back and forth for a while. I would not agree to part with anything that I could not renew, such as writing more poetry. Which, luckily, did not seem to bother the merchant. Unfortunately, the real sticking point was that the clothier was only interested in grim or depressing poems. I had plenty of poetry which invoked imagery of victory or glory, yet for some reason I simply had not considered writing about some of the most prolific themes in poetics.

I was inclined to blame nigglers for my lapse. Yet, I knew that it was more likely that Summerfire’s Grace had burned away my tendencies towards thoughts of the depressing. Similarly I had not written anything of love, the other most favored topic. I had simply been more interested in expressing my anger, or writing about overcoming obstacles. So, I made a note to try my hand at other topics, to prove my technical skills, if nothing else.

Ultimately, I departed the shop without any merchandise. Although, I was satisfied with the experience gained. Then, I realized that I had lost track of Gavin Granitbane. Checking my iPhone6S, I had plenty of time before my gang front entrance rendezvous. So, I pushed on, ostensibly looking for one of my allies, more than window shopping.

At a little khaki tent, with a plaque which advertised “Puzzles Sorted and Problems Solved”. The goblin inside was asphalt-green with a long pencil-pointy nose and hairy-spidery hands. I sought answers to my group’s Mostly dilemma, however the chap’s prices were too high. on the other hand, for the cost of a spontaneous poem—lauding the shop’s efficacy—the proprietor did provide a solution to my Fetch-Tom problem. Specifically, “What you’re looking for is some glove cleaner.”

          “Glove cleaner?” I knew he was not being literal, yet I could not make the connection.

          “Sure,” the solver winked a shiny-black eye, “removes unwanted stains… with extreme prejudice, if you’d like.”

          Nodding my comprehension, I left the tent contemplating more terminal options for Fetch-Tom, than I had before. In particular, since I seemed unwilling to break my connections to a gang of murderers, could I employ them to my benefit? Or would I be better off spending the memories to hire a professional “glove cleaner”? Some of my reading had suggested that smiting my shadow-eater duplicate personally would be more advantageous in some mystical way, though.

          As I mused, I also continued noting interesting shops. One dark tent had a steady low _thrum-thrum_ and what appeared to be large cylindrical tanks of dark-red fluids. A roofless kiosk sold Briar-fruits and Briar-vegetations, purportedly collected from the deepest parts of the Thorny Tangle. There was a tent with counters and walls, displaying all shapes of blades, some gleaming as if they cut the light which fell on them. Resisting further urges to barter, I made more of an effort to locate one of my comrades. I did not want to go through the set-back of reconvening at the entrance and churning through another chaotic discussion of what to do next.

Eventually, I found rough-hewn Mr. Granitbane and lithe Miss Bramblerose, in front of the flap to a rainbow-striped tent which was embroidered with many and varied astrological symbols. The tent was also faded to pale pastels, although some of the embroidery still glittered metallically. An old wood door was propped next to the entrance, painted with words in a dozen languages—the English read “Trinkets, Curiosities, and Tinkering, from Near and Beyond”.

My two allies waved me over and brought me up to date. Pumice-y Gavin opened with pointing at the old tent, “This is one of the places that the Grawlis told us about, Pauley the Tinker’s.”

I nodded at the helpful reminder. However, I doubted that it could be the right location for what my mirror had shown as what Mostly saw. That image had countenanced much newer looking fabric. I did not have the opportunity to voice my opinion, though, as my allies kept speaking.

“I’ve actually been here for a while.” Tegan’s alabaster brow was knit with some consternation, like ripples in cream. “Pauley’s a serious salesman.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the tinker’s tent. “Rai’s in there now, hearing about how and why he should buy an unbreakable spoon or some-such.” With a shake of her head, the brighter red highlights of her shoulder length wavy-hair caught the light. “I had to step out here, to think.”

“About?” I raised my sun-bleached eyebrows in curiosity.

“Well,” the bloomwell’s bosom rose and fell within the mint colored shirt, beneath her unzipped jacket, as she took a deep breath and let it out. “He has this wind-up mouse, that he claims can locate anything that it’s told to find. Except the toy has a limited spring life and range, so multiple windings may be required.”

Nodding, I waiting for the down side.

“The thing is,” Tegan’s crystalline-green eyes glanced sidelong at the shop, “the price. Pauley wants a cherished memory for the mouse.”

“Plus,” Gavin whispered, cross armed and coarse-textured face serious, “I’m half convinced that Pauley has Mostly locked away in some mechanical trap.”

“Really?” I looked between my to comrades to assess the seriousness of the suggestion. Tegan rolled her bright verdant orbs and quirked her velvety red lips dismissively. So, I arched my brows and asked Gavin, “What makes you say that?”

“Well…” Mr. G had to consider. “Mostly it’s a feeling. But he does got lots of magic stuff that does odd stuff and the striped tent with stars fits.”

About then, Freerunner and Iron Wade the Man of Steal ambled out of the throng of market goers. So, we all compared notes. Like me, neither the dour fencer nor the timid cabbie had seen anything which they had felt was worthy of mention. Or, as Wade put it, to me with a wink “Still looking for Nemo.”

Which is when Raion-ju exited Pauley’s tent, shaking his wide-head slowly. Rai’s triangular ears drooped forward. A moment later, Sean Tallwind limped enthusiastically up to our pathway-clogging congregation. The usually bitter-pill of a wrinkled-gnarling had a twinkle of excitement in his dull-brown eyes. I vaguely recalled having seen the look once before, when Sean and ‘Runner had tracked the Alchemical Accounts specialist, Ms. Alstroemeria, to a sewer grate. The twinkle must have been the gnarling’s tiny inner sleuth finally shining through.

“Found the tent.” Tallwind said, then added as he looked at Pauley’s establishment. “At least, it matches what was in the mirror, better than this one.”

I glanced at Gavin, in time to see his chunky shoulders slump a little.

”The guy there,” our grizzled companion continued, “sells all kinds of wild animals—parrots, armadillo, foxes.” Sean’s eyebrows waggled significantly. “Says he has bigger and more exotic critters, too.”

“So, you figure Mostly was turned into one of the animals?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low enough that only my party could hear.

Mr. Tallwind nodded and placed the pointy tip of one stretched-finger on his yellow-grey nose. “Can’t tell which one, though. But, figured I could try a couple more things with the mirror.”

I was not keen on the scarred guy acting like my mirror was “our mirror”. Nor did I like the idea of using a truly magical thing within the Goblin Market. Magic was clearly the favored commodity at that bazaar and advertising that I had the looking glass could make me a target… Well, more of a target, since everyone in the Goblin Market was looked at as a pigeon to be plucked.

Looking around for a more private place, I led our group between two tents. I pulled my hand-mirror from my coat pocket, “I expect this back as soon as you're done with these queries.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sean sneered as he took the filigreed handle and sat on the dingy linoleum. The wrinkled fellow crossed his legs beneath him, with some effort due to the stiffness of his burnt left side, and laid the mirror face up in his lap. Tallwind intoned, “Mirror, mirror, I hold near, reveal that which Mostly can hear.”

After a slight pause, the mirror’s reflection flashed blue-white, then showed a white and yellow cockatiel. The bird’s beak opened and closed rapidly in the silent image. The avian seemed to hover in empty space, as the rest of the view was to foggy to see any background or setting.

Unsatisfied, Sean tried a few other rhymes, however without any clearer success. Even so, our gang agreed that the evidence was enough to validate Mr. Tallwind’s claim. So, All Mostly must be within hearing distance of a cockatiel and was most likely a fellow caged animal.

As I reclaimed my magic mirror, Tegan announced, “Well, I guess that settles it, I have to get the toy mouse now.”

“How do you figure?” Asked weathered and weary looking Wade.

“It’ll be the easiest way to determine which animal is the right one,” Tegan flipped her silky crimson hair. ”without having to rely on whatever the goblin seller knows or says.”

 

Only Iron Wade and I followed Miss Bramblerose into the knick-knack shop. Partially, the group had concerns about unintentionally looking as if we were trying to strong-arm Pauley. Mostly, our four companions had reached there limits for interacting with others, especially goblins. For my part, I was curios to see inside the tinker’s lair, as well as wanting to observe Tegan’s transaction. I believed that Iron Wade was going more as a body-guard, even though the Goblin Market had rules against violence. Plus, black-belt Tegan was able to protect herself quite well.

          Inside Pauley’s tent-emporium was like a hoarder’s attic. An old phonograph sat atop a stack of bird houses. A precarious pile of pots and pans dominated one corner. The central support-pole had a bunch of license plates nailed to it. The somewhat stuffy-air smelled of metal and dust and the lighting came from a bare forty-watt bulb, hung from an extension cord, above the license plates.

          Pauley shuffled out from behind a heap of what seemed to have been bird cages and shopping carts. The goblin’s skin was dark grey-green and shiny, like wet bacteria-filled mud, with patches of what appeared to be moss all over his body. Pauley’s ears were steeply pointed, sticking a few inches higher than the rest of his hunched five-foot frame. Oversized muddy-brown eyes peered from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, perched on a hawkish nose. The tinker wore a heavy leather apron over raw-spun medieval-style garb.

“Ah, the pretty petal returns!” Pauley’s voice was somewhat nasal and his demeanor friendly and welcoming. “Back for little Bernie, eh?” his smiled displayed yellowed, yet surprisingly straight, teeth.

Over the brief negotiation which passed between the bloomwell and the tinker, it became clear that Pauley was insistent that the toy mouse in contention was named Bernie. Which made me wonder if the mechanical mouse of seeking had always been a machine, or a mouse for that matter? The bargain was struck too fast for my musing to settle in, though. Bodacious Bramblerose had agreed to give Pauley the memories of her first love and Pauley had disappeared, around a pile of pots and pans.

The goblin tinker returned holding a leash, which angled upward, like a balloon’s string. The other end of the tether was tied through the lower fin of a large blue and orange striped niggler. Of the half dozen or so nigglers that I had actually seen, they had been effectively angelfish-shaped, albeit with oversized diaphanous fins which seemed to blend into the air. No two had shared coloration or patternation, though each had been as vivid as Pauley’s. Of course, since nigglers were normally invisible, I expected that there was more to know about their appearances. For instance, the nigglers that I had seen had been no bigger than my palm, while Pauley’s pumpkin and cobalt specimen was easily two or three time as large.

The aero-quatic creature made me flinch a little. Even if Pauley’s pet was controlled or tame, I had no way to be certain that more of the unseen versions were not nibbling away at my surface thoughts. I would eventually learn that many goblins semi-domesticated nigglers, specifically for collecting memory or emotion based payments. Not that such knowledge would put my future self at any greater ease around either thought-eating floating fish or goblins.

Meanwhile, Pauley’s fish-balloon hovered lazily, as if in a placid pound or fishbowl. When the niggler would reach the maximum length of its leash, it would become a momentary orange-blue blur, as it “swam” in a quick silent constricting circles. Effectively re-centered on the lead, the niggler returned to its languid drifting.

The glossy-mossy goblin instructed Tegan, “Now you concentrate on that first love of yours.” Then, he tugged the leash gently and held the niggler over the auburn head.

Tegan became exceptionally still and resigned, as if a dentist were approaching her with a novocaine-filled syringe. The azure and citron striped fish orbited Tegan, its face steadily pointing towards her shampoo-commercial perfect hair. The niggler’s mouth opened and closed, as if eating, yet never got closer than a finger’s length to my ally. The sight was aesthetically pleasing and emotionally chilling, as the creature was inducing selective amnesia. I was too disturbed to speak up and ask how Pauley would access Tegan’s memories for later use.

After several long moments, the Pauley expressed satisfaction, towed his pet niggler off to the side, and tied the leash to the handle of a brass-bound chest. The shopkeep then produced a tin mouse about the size of a lime and a wing-style key. Bernie had black eyes, nose, and whiskers, painted over grey which covered the rest of his body, except for the inner ears which were shiny unpainted polished tin. The winding key was also bright unadorned tin, though did look unusually sharp at the end which inserted into the back of the toy mouse. The tinker handed both items to Tegan and quietly instructed her in the magical mechanism’s use.

Throughout the transaction, Iron Wade’s semi-metallic eyes had gone wide. While Tegan and Pauley were huddled, the haggard gremlin turned to me, “Dude, I kind of owe you an apology.”

I blinked in surprise. “Uh, okay. What for?”

“I’ve been razzing you since I heard that orange guy… Lor, tease you about seeing flying fish.” Wade confessed, his almost reflective eyes a little more haunted than usual and his dry voice a bit more strained. “Tegan tried to tell us that they were real and normally invisible, but I thought she was pulling our legs. But that’s really one of them.” He nodded at the blue and orange niggler, now semi-transparent at the end of it’s cord.

All of Iron Wade’s Little Mermaid and Finding Nemo references clicked into place for me and I felt like an idiot for not having made the connection sooner. I had to admit, to myself, that the teasing would have been pretty funny, if it had been directed at someone else. Luckily, to the raspy-voiced oil-change mechanic I had to admit nothing. “Yeah, well,” I affected a stoically hurt look, “maybe you’ll remember that, the next time I say something that you find hard to believe. I _am_ usually right…” I paused significantly. “That is, assuming I don’t stick a niggler in your room and make you forget.”

          I, of course had no idea how to catch nigglers, nor would I risk additional exposure to them, anyway. Not that Iron Wade needed that information.

By then, Tegan’s transaction was complete and the three of us rejoined our comrades, between the nearby tents. Out of the flow of traffic, our group’s attention focused on making sure that lovely Miss Bramblerose was alright, specifically that she remained herself and was in control of her faculties.

          “So, what was it like?” Wade and Gavin asked in almost unison.

          “Well,” Tegan bit her lip thoughtfully, “I had not liked the idea of giving up any of my memories, especially ones from before Kendal, or that were positive, like love.” The ex-ROTC student shrugged one supple shoulder, making the curves of her body sway slightly, and spoke as if there were no real emotional connection to what she said. “In the end I decided that my first love didn’t have to be my first boyfriend, so I concentrated on… I guess it was a boy band. I remember thinking, even though it was technically my first love, now it was silly enough to let go.”

          “But your okay now?” Our often compassionate sounding rock-elemental asked.

          “How can you even say what was taken, if you can’t remember?” Sean Tallwind grumbled incredulously—the miserable cuss could paten the stuff.

          Tegan shrugged again, “Hard to say really. I’m surprised how much more of my thoughts were taken up in those memories, but I don’t miss them. I still kind of know what I gave up and why, but I can’t focus on any details of those thoughts… Like, I have no idea what the name of the musician, or band, was.”

          I shuddered inwardly at the whole process. There were enough dangers in this new world of magical threats, the fact that some of them were invisible things that could eat your memories away was one of the worst. Even so, for warned was fore armed, so best to learn as much as possible about the commonly invisible buggers at any opportunity.

          Then, coins dentally, as our septet headed towards the animal seller, I spied a wondering vendor. The merchant was about five-foot-four, so tall for the goblins that I had seen. I opted for “her” because of the Victorian dress that she wore, along with a cheap-plastic red Halloween-costume’s wig. Otherwise, the goblin was thin and lacked any curves or other distinguishing sexual characteristics. The vendor’s skin looked like a new tire—deep tread-like wrinkles and matt-green so dark as to be virtually black. Her beady black eyes were widely placed on either side of a bulbous nose.

The seller carried a tray, like hotdog vendors at sports arenas use, only hers was loaded with mason jars. Each jar held one smallish niggler, in all manner of bright colors. The red-wigged goblin called out, in smooth clear tones, “Happy thoughts! Fresh and fun! Some of a loved one! Happy Thoughts!”

Assuming that a goblin with that many nigglers must know more than most about how to deal with the pests, I got her attention and asked, “Pardon me, uh, can I buy some information from you?”

The goblin stopped and looked at me with mild suspicion. “What sort of information?”

“I want to know how to rid ones self of wild nigglers,“ I gestured to her wares just in case she had a different name for the creature, “and avoid them coming back… I would be happy to give you a poem for the knowledge.” I smiled what I believed was my most charming white-toothed smile.

“I don’t have need of a poem.” She replied, yet was considering me. “I will tell you what I know for some of your anger, though.”

My first thought was that Summerfire would not approve of me selling our favored emotion. Then, I figured that I could generate some serious ire for many of the little things from just that day—Wade alone, with his Little Mermaid references, for example. Reasoning that as long as I did not let go of any of my core choleric motivators, then I could replenish the rest. Especially, considering how irritating I tended to find my housemates. So, I agreed to the thought-seller’s terms and started thinking of how nice it would be to lash out over all the little things which had been happening—the Man of Steal’s jibes, the pig-beastling bikers having treated me like an ornament, Sean just assuming use of my mirror, and so on.

Meanwhile, the thought seller said, “Good, I've been working on a special project.” placing her boxy tray on the ground, she pulled forth something from a compartment at its back. Technically, the thing was a leashed niggler, like Pauley had used. Except, this fishy thing looked like something from a deep sea documentary. The niggler was all spines and mouth and teeth, as well as being mottled red on red, deep and dark like an open sore. As much as I dreaded nigglers, I found something about this monstrosity sort of cute.

The goblin spoke as she pointed the fish at me. “I only feed this one rage and hate. It seems to be coming along nicely.”

I was almost surprised at how easily I ramped up to a violent rage. Then the niggler was pointed at me and I felt my fury just bubbling away. I tried to maintain my upset and indignation, however rapidly found it impossible to care about all the little things on which I was concentrating. It made me wondered if this was how normans felt as they were winnowed or threshed for wyrd. In turn, I wondered what would happen to any that lost all of their rage, not just one day’s worth?

I had to back-burner my speculations, as I realized that I was involuntarily backing away from the niggler. The vendor seemed to notice at the same moment and bustled her rage-fish away. That settled the tire-skinned goblin fulfilled her half of the bargain.

“I can think of four methods for driving off nigglers.” One dark hand held up four crinkled fingers then lowered its pinky. ”Find a Hunter to kill them regularly. Nigglers are only animals, but even beasts learn to avoid a where predators go consistently.”

I thought of Lor. I made a mental note to sound the orange elf out about what he would charge for such a service.

“Second,” the vendor lowered her ring finger, “find someone with more thoughts that are less guarded, than your own>”

“Uh, how?” I asked myself, as much the gobbling, while scratching the back of my neck.

“That information falls outside of what you have purchased.” My inky-green tutor explained. “if your to pay, I can give you the names of a few vendors here, whom should be able to teach that.”

“Ah, no, uh, that’s fine.” I bit my lip with the consternation of how much emotion or memory I stood to loose, in short order. “Um, you said her were a couple more methods?”

The goblin nodded curtly and lowered the next finger. “Third, feathered hats and head-wear tends to frighten nigglers away. Especially, if the feathers were from birds of prey.”

A recollection of the poetry contests, which Iron Wade and I had seen, in Xanadu, came to me. Often the prizes won had been feathered headdresses. So, I was pretty sure that my eyes sparkled with anticipation of my next foray to the Red Court of the Western Territories.

“Fourth, jingles.” The goblin lowered her hand.

“Uh…” I tried to make sense of that. “You mean, um, like wear little bells around?”

The goblin rolled her glassy-black eyes, as she gathered up her tray. “No. Jingles. Ditties. Little meaningless tunes, that do not connect to deeper or meaningful memories.”

“You mean,” I said brow furrowed, “like, _bah bah bah bah-da, I’mmm lovin’ it!_ ” I sang.

All of the jarred nigglers swam furiously in circles, for a second. The merchant yanked the tray away from me, scowling.

“Yes.” The purveyor of other people’s happiness hissed venomously, then stalked off.

My allies paused just long enough to verify that I was in no obvious danger, then had wandered on. As I speed-walked to catch up, I was torn between believing that my comrades had moved on to afford me some privacy verses they were willfully distancing themselves from a potential learning experience. Then, as I did rejoin my party, I wondered if nigglers passively influenced their victims, so that the longer one was exposed the more susceptible one made oneself. It would certainly explain my colleagues’ actions, as well as confirm my suspicions of their niggler problems.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Containing: beastly negotiating,

accessory investigations, and

an invitation

Vlademir’s Bestiary was truly a circus-tent, easily three times the size of most others at the Market, bold blue and black stripes of varying widths with occasional sparkling silvery stars. The grunting, squawking, and whining sounds coupled with musky, ammonia smells, emanating from the tent, unmistakably announced a wide variety of animals within, of many sizes and species.

No signage identified the shop, though Sean Tallwind reminded our troupe of the owner’s name. Gavin Granitbane nearly brick-edged elbowed me into one of the massive ape-like security guards, while nodding at the mention of Vladimir. I understood that the big orange-ish slab was pleased that he had gotten the animal peddler’s name first, from the Grawlis. I did not see how Mr. Granitbane figured that he warranted any recognition for the fact, though. Especially, as Gavin had been convinced, less than an hour earlier, that Pauley had All Mostly turned into a vinyl record, or tea spoon, or the like. I just smiled to the oblivious fireman-cum-bouncer, while rubbing the sore spot on my arm.

Once the seven of us were within sight of the livestock tent’s entrance, Tegan Bramblerose had us cluster to the side of the lane. “I have an idea,” she said, piercing emerald orbs affixed to the blue and black tent-flap, “but I need to go in alone… at least at first.” The delicate looking lass amended, after glancing at the over-protective members of our party.

I completely sympathized with Tegan’s desire to go alone, in her place I would have been expecting our peanut gallery to start their accusatory and counter-productive hurricane-style questioning. In the smoking-hot bloomwell’s case, she was probably also looking for the chance to employ her wiles (mundane and mystical) on the shopkeeper, which were most effective when her target was only paying attention to her.

“What if the goblin attacks you, or has his animals attack you, for some reason?” Gavin forced the issue of concern.

          “Well,” Tegan kept her stunning expression neutral and spoke in a clear measured pace, “that is against the rules, it was the first line of the song and all. But, Sean’s staked the place out, so he can come and listen from outside the entrance... If something does go wrong, it’ll probably be with negotiations, so Tommy should wait out front as well, since he might be able to talk me out of a bad deal, if it is needed.”

I was flattered that the freckle-faced fem-fatal thought that I might have a shot at out talking someone, if she could not. Although, the flattery was tempered by my understanding that Miss Bramblerose picked me and the disagreeable gnarling because we were the two most likely to simply leave her to her plan. Of course, I would let Tegan be, because I believed that she was exceptionally capable. While I suspected that Tallwind was more likely to expect the elfin girl to fail and would simply prefer a front row seat.

Grudgingly accepting Miss Bramblerose’s dictates, our four allies stayed put and watched Vlademir’s tent from across the lane. Sean and I took up positions next to the bestiary’s entrance, trying to look as if we were just casually taking a break.

Meanwhile, Tegan took Bernie the wind-up mouse from her jacket pocket, inserted the gleaming butterfly-key, and started winding it. As the alabaster-skinned lass turned the key, she whispered into the toy’s shiny ears. After a few moments, nimble Tegan placed Bernie on the scuffed linoleum. The clockwork mouse shivered with excitement, spun in place twice, then the painted on whiskers sprang out, and he zipped off. As the mechanical rodent moved towards Vlademir’s tent flap, I thought that I could see little pink feet scrabbling, where once tiny metal wheels had been. Also, the silvery tin key spun in a blur, so fast as to be an nearly invisible shimmer, which created a streaking trail behind the mouse. At the bestiary’s entrance, Bernie stopped rotated counter-clockwise 270 degrees, in order to face the tent, then shot in. I could not distinguish whether the accompanying squeaks were tiny wheels on linoleum, metal gears and springs, or an animal’s.

Tegan followed about five paces behind the wind-up toy-creature, pretending to be frazzled.

Adjusting my stance, I leaned closer to the azure and sable canvas, to better hear the unseen Miss Bramblerose and the proprietor. Tegan’s dulcet tones sounded circumspect, “…suppose I might be interested in something, not too big.”

“Huv courze you are.” Vlademir’s voice was strong and open, as befitted a salesman, although his Russian accent was almost too thick for me to decipher. “Hay pretty lady zuch az hew dezervez fine ant pretty tingz. I have here an exzellent macaw, or perhapz hew vould like a mink hor two?”

There was a pause, then Tegan said, “Hmm, I don’t know, I’m not willing to spend too much…” Another pause, in which I imagined Tegan feigning an inspection of the stock. “How about the little fox there? What do you want for him?”

Vlademir considered before answering, “Hey child perhapz.” His voice changed, as if he had seen something negative in Tegan’s expression. “Hor better ztill, hey tiger.”

“A _live_ tiger?!” Tegan’s crystal-clear voice was incredulous.

“Da, hor any large cat. Tiger for prefernz…” Vlademir continued modifying his proposition. “It need not be full grown.”

The savvy bloomwell was doing fine, slow and steady. Even discounting Tegan’s hypnotic pheromones, she seemed to be gradually making progress towards getting the cost of the presumably-transformed Mostly to a reasonable value. I was most curious to find out if Miss Bramblerose was even going to have to pay anything, once her aromatic faery aura kicked in.

On the other hand, Mr. Tallwind rolled his dirt-brown eyes and grumbled something and entered the tent. As much as I believed that sour-puss Sean, wanted to listen to the pretty lass fail, I never imagined that he would sabotage her success. Our whole gang was well aware of the bloomwell’s fae-pheromones, capable of swaying almost anyone. So, impatient Tallwind either forgot about Tegan’s alluring gift, or imagined that it was not working for some reason, or simply could not stand the idea of a woman succeeding at a task. Not that any of the options warranted interrupting. Even if the gnarling contrarian honestly believed that he was helping an incompetent woman, I was still surprised at his chosen method.

I really did not want to miss any further details, more than I wanted to avoid Tegan misconstruing my support of Sean’s actions. The looks on everyone’s faces had to be priceless. So, I followed the saggy-skinned grump in, but stood back from the exchange.

At first glance, the bestiary’s interior was much smellier and smaller than its outside. Eventually, I spied an additional tent partition-flap, behind the small counter, which must have led to the rest of the large pavilion. There were no other patrons in the narrow canvas room which Tegan, Vlademir, Sean, and I occupied. The room was magically illuminated with a uniform source-less pink-hue. The space reminded me of any pet store that I had seen, with rows of cages stacked on each other. No pet supplies (food, toys, etcetera), though. The smell of urine, fesses, musks, and dander was pungent, although none of the cages appeared to need cleaning. All the animals were in the small dog/large house cat or smaller range of sizes and I saw some of everything. Mostly the animals were exotic or wild, several types of tropical birds, desert lizards, brightly colored frogs, and so on. An armadillo was in the cage right next to the fox which Tegan had targeted. I wondered if more exotic hobkin animals were kept in one of the “back room” areas, or if Vlad did not deal in Briar-beasts.

Once inside, it occurred to me the stink of the place might well have been overwhelming Tegan’s faery scent. Even so, the voluptuous woman still had her own wiles to employ. Plus, I was pretty sure that Tegan knew the secrets of the same Fairest Tongue glamour as I did, which would favorably influence any communication—even haggling. Thus, musky tent or not, interfering with Tegan’s plan still seemed premature.

The proprietor Vladimir was a five-foot-one, bluish-green goblin with a bushy black uni-brow and very squared off features. In polished black riding boots, baggy red pants, a blousy light grey shirt, a heavy leather apron, and a tall fuzzy-black hat, Vladimir’s wardrobe added credence to his thick accent. The animal seller also maintained a calm, yet assertive, stance and tone, throughout the encounter.

As Sean hobbled his mass of burnt-wrinkles into the tent, our elfin ally pierced him with her emerald peepers. When I was spotted a few steps behind, Tegan’s sharp glance at me said, “Why are you here?! I am doing fine!” I returned the tiniest shrug that I could manage, with a glancing nod toward Sean, by way of blame.

There followed a cluster-mess of Bramblerose and Tallwind pretending not to know each other. Both talking over each other, as well as Vladimir. For some reason, the grouchy gnarling also chose to express interest in the somewhat mangy caged-fox, while also disparaging the animal’s quality. Tegan, on the other hand, simply tried to continue with her original tactic to slow-play the merchant. All of which, obviously, only made Tegan’s subtle aromatics that much less effective.

Later, Mr. Tallwind would try to explain that he was trying to drive down the price of the Mostly-fox, with the disparaging comments. An admittedly sound haggling tactic, as long as there were no other interested customers. Since Vlad clearly had two people that he could pit against each other in a bidding war, the attempt seemed blatantly doomed to failure. Explanations, like Sean’s, would start me wondering if there were other invisible niggler-like creatures that consumed reason or sanity, rather than thoughts and memories.

Meanwhile, in the actual bargaining farce, Vlademir became confused and suspicious. Most telling was that neither the auburn-haired beauty, nor the balding bag-of-skin, attempted to out bid each other. In the end, Tegan threw up her perfectly manicured hands and exited the shop. Leaving Sean to negotiate a price for the now uncontested fox.

Luckily, I had not been dragged into the fiasco. So, I was able to remain and observe what Mr. Tallwind felt was so much better than Tegan’s methods.

“I got no way to get you a large cat or human baby.” Sean offered, ringing his spindly hands. “But, I could make you somethin’... Sturdy and supple gloves, perhaps?”

A twinkle dimmed in Vlademir’s dark-brown eyes when Tegan departed. So, the vendor assess Sean Tallwind with a hardened and critical gaze. “Vell iz clear hew have been taught lezzenz,” he referred to the gnarling’s Keeper given scars, “but how vell? Have hew an exzample of hewer vork?”

As soon as I parsed the meaning of the sloppy English, I felt a faint _pang_ and remembered that the whole point of being at the tent, let alone the Goblin Market, was to get All Mostly. Regardless of how entertaining it would have been to watch Sean twist in the wind of his own making. Plus, I shuddered at the ideas of what Ms. Frost might do, if this opportunity were missed and she ever learned of it. So, stepping forward, displaying the scaled bracer, on my left wrist. “He made this.” I nodded to my companion. ”From vermicious k’nid hide, just like the armored jerkins that he gave to our three comrades, out front.” I gestured to the tent flap.

Luckily, Vlad was suitably impressed with the lustrous object I displayed. My wrist-guard always shimmered with an opalescent luster. In the strange pinkish light of Vlad’s tent, the scales of my bracer almost seemed to move on their own under the pearlescent sheen. Had the goblin looked out, at my allies armor, he might have recognized their lower quality. More importantly, Vlademir would have certainly seen Tegan, chatting with our housemates, thus raising his suspicions again. I bit my inner lip, as punishment, for realizing that situation to late. I also mentally sang the McDonalds and State Farm jingles, a few times each, as I believed that nigglers must have been messing with my ability to think.

“Ho-kay,” the blue-green goblin made one sharp nod to Sean, “hew make me a zet huv brazers az nice az dose hand ve have huh deal.”

“It’ll take some time.” My grizzled cohort said.

“Market clozez hin four nightz.” Vlad stated.

Placing a pointy knuckle to his loose chins, Tallwind thought a moment. “Sure, I can get somethin’ ready in time. You’ll hold the fox and not sell to anyone else, right?”

“Iz good fox.” Vladimir equivocated. “Zomevone comez hin vit aczeptable prize, dey get fox. I have no h-idea vere hew are, hor hiv hew come back.” His practiced grin conveyed sympathy.

Sean scowled and thought a little more. “How about, I give you somethin’ now to hold the fox for me, for the full four days.” Pulling off his backpack, he started rummaging in it.

“Vut hew offerink?”

Mr. Tallwind produced a sawed-off baseball bat wrapped in cold-iron wire. Everyone in our gang had received a length of crude cold-Iron chain, from when we had liberated Amy and our haven from a manticore. I used my length of chain for make shift “brass” knuckles, while Sean clearly had known how to convert his into more versatile wire.

Vladimir expression went impressively blank as he inspected the weapon, eventually accepting the offer. “I put fox behind counter, ‘til ve cloze here. Havter dat, he probably not return vit me next munt.” The fox’s cage was moved, as he spoke.

Sean rummaged in his bag for measuring tape, then fussed with taking measurements of the goblin’s arms, for ten minutes or more. Afterwards, the spindle fingered fellow and I departed the establishment.

I was amazed that Tallwind had parted so readily with such a weapon. That bat-club had dealt a grievous wound to Doctor Barber, a Warden of the Folk. Maybe the grumpy gnarling could just make another one, or, in line with his declaration to stay out of fights, he simply did not expect to need one. Whatever the case, though, because Mr. Tallwind had been such an ass-hat about interfering with Tegan’s plan, I kept my lips sealed. Since it was obvious to me that Sean could probably have just traded the wired-bat for the fox, in the first place. At least, I filed the observation away for future use—when the persnickety gnarling wise-ass would inevitably act like he knew more than one of the rest of us.

Back in the open foot-traffic, the stale air seemed fresh, compared to the thick-muskiness of the bestiary. Our group of seven shuffled along as unobtrusively as possible, as we talked. Heart-faced Tegan had calmed down and recapped her point of view.

“When I first burst into the tent,” Tegan’s normally pristine brow was furrowed with concern, “Bernie had stopped at the armadillo, but then arched around to face the fox, full on.” She shrugged. “It makes more sense that Mostly would be turned into a fox, based on his normal appearance. But, I’m a little worried that that’s what someone would want us to think and he’s actually the armadillo.”

The lady’s plush red bow-lips tightened and emerald eyes narrowed, as they glanced sidelong at the limping Mr. Tallwind. “I _was_ going to haggle Vladimir’s price down. _Then,_ offer to take both the fox and armadillo, for one of his slightly higher suggestions.” Her tone was biting.

“Nah, rrr.” Freerunner waved the idea away with a hairy hand. “Pauley’s not allowed urrgh to lie rrirr and he said the rrr mouse would find urmph the specified target.” Another wave. “I’m irrgh just glad you erm didn’t pick up rrerr Bernie beforerere he made his rrr final stop.”

Nodding speculatively, Tegan continued with the rest of her tale, for the quartet whom had been across the way. Even though, the auburn-haired beauty was clearly annoyed at having had her negotiations barged in on, she also tempered her agitation, with the knowledge that we still achieved the necessary result of locating All Mostly.

I considered pointing out that we had achieved the letter of our promise to Jesse Frost. Then I doubted that the icy regent would accept our findings as more than hearsay, without some greater proof.

As I pondered, Sean spun his version of what had happened, noticeably starting from after Tegan had exited the shop. Upon hearing Mr. Tallwind’s arrangement with Vladimir, Gavin sighed and grudgingly offered, “I guess you can use my armor, to make the goblin’s bracers. Since you’re not sure you’ve got enough scraps back at the oak and it’s so important that we get the fox.”

“You sure about that, G-man?” I asked, knowing how excited the big guy had been to get the protective garment, even though his was the least well put together of the bunch.

“Yeah,” the rough skinned ex-rescue worker sighed again, “I have my Stonier Skin glamour, if I need to armor up.”

It had been another loooong day, the first one since my gang had dealt with the Child’s Rite. I was looking forward to a quiet drive back to our rental house and some decent sleep. Of course, sleep had become something of a crap-shoot, where snake-eyes meant a reliving of my time in captivity. Worst still, was not knowing what trigger the Keeper related dreamemberings. So, I dared not risk a stupefying amount of alcohol. Especially, since getting drunk might make it harder for me to leave the Dreamlands and wake from such nightmares Even the few, relatively, normal dreams that I had, since my return to the World of Men, had felt tainted with Dreamland intensity.

Alas, even potential enslavement nightmares were delayed further, by fae shenanigans. As our septet were nearing the Market’s exit, we were fairly engrossed in the familiar topic of whom would ride with who and where each vehicle was headed. So, none of us were suitably aware of our surroundings. A person in a tan trench-coat pushed through our ranks with some haste, jostling into me with enough force to slightly stager me. Then, the stranger sped out of the Goblin Market, into the darkened halls of the Asylum, and the night beyond.

Gavin, Tegan, Wade, and Rai all tensed, as if ready to chase down and pummel the rude stranger. Mr. Granitbane asked, “You okay, Tommy?”

“I’m fine,” it was easy enough to tell that I was physically alright, “it’s cool. Everything’s fine.”

My allies seemed more disappointed to not fight, than pleased that I was well. Meanwhile, I was adjusting my clothes and checking my pockets, worried that I may have been robbed. Mentally I was at odds. If my pockets had been picked, I wanted the guy caught, as quick as possible. On the other hand, I did not like the amount of brutality, and possibly death, my combative comrades might unleash, if I did call for the stranger to be chased down.

As I made my personal inventory, I realized a lack of sentimental items. Most of what I carried had been purchased with the last couple of weeks and could easily be replaced. Though I did have two things of significant, if not irreplaceable value. My length of cold-iron chain, coiled reassuringly under the left glove in its related jacket pocket. My magic looking-glass was also nestled safely in the opposite outer pocket.

My relief at confirming the presence of my filigreed grooming tool turned to surprise when I found more than the mirror and right glove in the pocket. Rather than being pick-pocketed, I had actually been… well reverse-robbed? Place-pocketed, for lack of a better term. From inside the fleece lined leather workman’s glove, I pulled a leather cord.

The dark-brown thong was long enough to be a necklace. Midway on the cord was, knotted in place, a large black bird’s foot. I thought the foot might have been ebony, yet was so black, glossy, and detailed, that it was probably a real bird’s talon. The foot was also clenched as if in a fist. I re-pocketed the pendant, almost as soon as I glanced at it.

“What was that?” Sean Tallwind asked gruffly, pointing an impossibly extended finger towards me. Somehow, managing to draw even more unwanted attention to my pocket, than if his digits had been normal.

“Let’s talk at the cars.” Was my curt reply. The glossy-black trinket may have stolen, so I wanted to be ready for a fast get-away..

We returned to our deliberation, on our way back through the empty mental institution. Eventually concluding with hirsute Freerunner driving Iron Wade and agile Tegan to our Athens rental property, while the rest of us would accompany the wrinkly Tallwind, back to Amy’s oak tree. The Man of Steal and Miss Bramblerose wanted to stay in town in order to keep up the appearances of our rental being occupied. Sean, on the other hand, needed to get to work on the gloves which would liberate fox-Mostly and the rest of us wanted to make sure that he got to the haven safely.

Thus, I would get the relaxing drive which I craved. However, my desired slumber would be delayed.

Upon reaching our vehicles, ‘Runner and his passengers sped off right away. All three were far more interested in their own sleep, than my new trinket. My three remaining allies gathered at my Camero GT, to inspect the bird-foot.

Feline Raion-ju and cynical Sean both concurred that the pendant was an actual crow’s foot. None of us could fathom why the stranger would have given the thing to me, though.

“It might have been an accident.” Overly optimistic Gavin suggested.

Rai shrugged broad shoulders, in a rare moment of continued participation, “Maybe, the foot acts on its own. Like the True Ring in the Lord of the Rings story.”

I was stunned that the distracted lad knew the Tolkien reference, having assumed that Rai’s reading habits were dry engineering texts. At the same time, the panther-ish fellow’s comment terrified me, with the idea that the thing which I held might turn me into a Gollum, or Ring Wraith, or worse.

Rubbing a long knuckle back and forth, over his creased upper lip, Sean suggested, “Thing’s probably a listenin’ or trackin’ device.”

Part of me wanted to hope that the tan-jacketed stranger had given me a kindness, like a secret admirer or something. My companions comments it impossible for me to sustain any such illusions.

While the four of us sat in my IROC-Z, discussing the possibilities, I turned the glossy pendant around and over, trying to discern any additional details. Without warning, the talons flexed wide opened, like a dead spider come to life, and the thing’s temperature pulsed steadily between warm and cool.

Within the claw’s palm, or arch, or whatever that part of a bird’s foot should be called, an unsettlingly deep-blue humanoid eye, a bit smaller than the tip of my thumb, seemed to stare back at me. The eye then swiveled around, pausing to note each of my three companions. The process took a second, maybe two, then the talon clamped shut and returned to its neutral temperature, once more.

I may have yelp, as I shoved the talisman into my pocket, as quickly as possible. “Crap! Well, I think that probably supports Sean’s guess.” I gripped the steering-wheel in both hands, to help me clamp down on my instinctual rage at having my privacy so thoroughly invaded.

“We should just ditch it.” Tallwind nodded towards the nearby river.

“Might not be able to,” Rai rumbled in his deep monotone, “it’s magic.”

Nodding, I thought and unclenched a little. “Plus, it’s just an eye so it probably can’t hear and it must be worth something.” I relaxed some more. “Plus, maybe there’s a way to use it to track back to whoever is watching.”

My allies were uncertain, yet did not force any contrary opinions. In the back of my mind, I started to contemplate rhymes that I might use to get my magic looking-glass to reveal more about the ebon pendant’s origin and purpose. With nothing more to say, our quartet proceeded with our original plan. Raion-ju hopped onto his Suzuki and I drove the other two to Sheaves & Leaves.

As I pulled in and parked, I wondered again about whether Ariadne’s Freehold was the only breach between the mundane world and the Briar within Athens. Presumably the Salamander Burial Mound out in the Hawk Wood Sate Park must be another weak point, but who wants to drive all the way out there? Plus, any car would look abandoned after a day or two. Thanks to the annual Freehold guest membership, all of my housemates purchased we also get unlimited use of the parking lot. I chewed my lip, once more, thinking that I should get a tarp since the lot is exposed to the elements and I spent a lot of time in Vegas via our haven.

It was one of those hole-in-the-roof thoughts. I only thought about the tarp as I was getting parking at Sheave & Leaves, never when it would be convenient to go buy one. Plus, I usually headed towards a specific task, so I was too distracted to write the need down. In this case, concern about the crow-foot talisman kept knocking other thoughts out of my head.

The bird-foot was so pervasive that I deviated from the group’s plan. While Briar-guide Rai led Sean and Gavin back to our oak tree-house, I decided to stay with the rare books. Even in spite of my exhaustion. I just knew that if I did not learn more about the pendent, then I would not get any good rest anyway.

Between my growing fatigue and my minor obsession with the black bird-foot, I barely even registered the extra gloomy-creepiness which was typical of Sheaves & Leaves, after dark. Entering through the night-hours side entrance, I headed straight to the tea and cakes counter turned deli. The stocky Borris was manning (fae-ing?, spirit-touching?, changeling-ing?) the counter, just like every night that I had ever been in Ariadne’s after sunset.

While polite, I was not inclined to chat. If Boris was disappointed, he brighten right up when I ordered a cup of coffee. The large, mono-tusked, boar-beastling seemed to pride himself on being able to prepare anything brought into his kitchen—road kill, unidentified meat-like things from the Briar, what have you. The boisterous butcher would inevitably make the offering into “meat” pies, which he would adamantly insist were edible—digestible was never mentioned. Boris approached coffee in much the same way. I tended to get Sweenie Todd songs playing in my head, when talking any kind of cuisine with Borris.

To be fare, the big fellow was an accomplished chef and would make requests to order, provided that he had the ingredients, and the customer was specific enough. So, I could have asked for a French roast latte, or whatever, and Boris would have made it well and proper. I took and downed a cup of the dubious pre-prepared brew, though.

The so-called coffee had been designed—or, more accurately, constructed—to keep the drinker awake. The brew was like a punch in the mouth, as the caffeine fought its way into my system with near reckless abandon. Had I been less tired, I would have had better sense than to have drank the abyss-black liquid, which was the way most people wound up with one of those cups in their possession. Still and all, I did gain enough verve for my research project.

After several hours, in the stacks of Ariadne’s rare books collection, I had located and cross referenced a few stories which mentioned items very similar to my new crow-foot talisman. While my research was by no means definitive, it did leave me far less inclined to think of the pendant as a surveillance device. Based on the literature that I found, the charm was actually a manipulator of the forces of probability.

It seemed when the claw opened, anyone within sight of the crow’s foot-eye would gain exceptional luck. The tales made it sound as if the good fortune was not infallible, just a greater quantity of favorable outcomes. Thus, if I were to make a random choice of two bad options, the luck of the foot would guide me to choose the least bad. The luck would last one day, however if that was twenty-four hours from time of exposure or until the next sunset, was not clear. Then, for an equal period of time, the cost kicked in. Bad luck followed the good, such that two beneficial options would always result in the least preferred. There was also implications of an alternative cost. Instead of incurring the “day” of misfortune, I could theoretically give the talisman a secret, at its activation. However, I was unable to verify what sort of secret was acceptable, or precisely how to cause the eye to open.

So, I became confident that me and my three allies had been “blessed”. It also occurred to me, that the extent, speed, and details of my research must have been directly enhanced by my improved fortune.

I experienced another bit of fortune, while in the stacks. Although, I was not sure if it really fell into the good or bad categories. Having returned to the study area which I had been using—a small Victorian-period writing-desk, tucked away in an alcove, near the “Accessories” section—I found an invitation, waiting for me. An missive had been propped between some of the books which I had already read, in such a way as to be unseen by passers, yet in my direct line of sight as soon as I sat down.

The envelope’s paper was thick and expensive, feeling almost velvety. “Twilight Tommy” was written on the exterior, in tall, looping, and elegant calligraphy. I was surprised that the envelope was sealed with glue, as any modern post, not a wax seal. Which caused me to reflect, yet again, on how quickly I had assimilated to often anachronistic spirit-touched community..

The stock of the single page, within the envelope, was so thick that it was practically a card. The text was in the same sweeping calligraphic script and it reinforced my out-of-period sense, as it seemed to be not quite gothic, fairly Victorian, and somewhat modern. The contents requested my attendance, at a high tea, in another part of Ariadne’s, on the following afternoon. Directions to the location were also included.

I was very intrigued that someone would seek out my company specifically, as well as a bit eager for my spirit-touched social circle to expand. I wondered if the invitation and crow-foot coming on the same night was coincidental, or whether I really did have a secret admirer. Whatever the case, with the meeting to take place on the Freehold’s neutral ground, I was hardly even concerned about some sort of foul play.

As my caffeine rush finally started to taper off, I found it hard to convince myself that a second jolt would be worth it. Even if there was more information to find, it was highly unlikely that my falsely stimulated mind would function very productively. So, I opted for home and the rest I had put off for far too long.

The relatively simple and safe drive to my collective’s rented house, was attractive. However, the drudgery of inflating my mattress and the quality of rest that would follow, was unappealing. Instead, emboldened by my state of boosted luck, I risked a late night walk, in the Briar—alone and near to staggering with weariness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Containing: comparative Briar travel,

a woodland riddler, and

a social caller

Perhaps thanks to my crow-foot fortune, I was not so exhausted that I forgot what I had learned at the Goblin Market. So, as I hiked towards Amy’s oak-haven and my cozy feather-bed, I hummed commercial themes---McDonalds “ _You Deserve a Break Today_ ” and “ _I’m Lovin’ It_ ” came up a lot, along with “ _By Mennon_ ” and “ _Like a Good Neighbor, State Farm is There_ ”. I kept it up the whole way. Although, it was a very short order before I to resolved to look up a more extensive playlist of jingles, on my iPhone6S, as soon as I had a signal again.

I found the tree-house slightly past dawn. The journey, having taken under an hour, was my personal best. Even worrying that my humming would attract predators had come to naught.

          Perky Amaryllis greeted me, as I ascended the plank stairs, spiraling up the oak’s trunk. The athletic dryad’s cheerful round face and ample bark-brown torso with her overtaxed autumn-leaf bandeaux, half-emerged from the tree and glided along beside me.

          “And hello to you, Amy.” I responded through my perpetually-tan hand as I covered a yawn. “Is anyone else home?”

          “Oh, yes.” The tree-woman nodded enthusiastically and the leaves over head rustle. “The wrinkly-one is deeply entrenched in a leather working project, in his room. And insists that he not be distracted.” She crinkled her nose at a bitter thought. “And he keeps asking me to bring him mugs of that vile _coffee_ stuff that he keeps bringing in those disgusting _plastic_ jars. “ Coffee and plastic were said with venomous revulsion. “The cat-man and rock-man have been sleeping, in their own rooms, since they got back with the bad-breathed wrinkly-one. And the vitalityleech crept into her room, just before dawn, and is also sleeping soundly.”

Grinning at Amy’s assessment of my comrades, I mumbled, “That sounds great.” I continued trudging up and up, to my room. “I need rest too, would you please wake me at noon?”

Amaryllis agreed with a sweet smile and nod.

Then, before I knew it, Amy was waking me, by gently shaking my bed. Since the bed was also an extension of the oak-tree, the dryad did not even have to manifest in my room. Even without disturbing dreams, I woke fairly disoriented. More so, for having slept from near dawn through to noon.

I have no memories of sleeping or waking from my time in captivity. It is terribly likely that my Keeper simply did not allow such activity. So, I had been slowly retraining my new spirit-touched circadian-rhythms. I believed that achieving a normal human span of a consistent seven to ten hours, nightly, would help me recapture a significant amount of the humanity that had been stripped from me. As it was, I had gotten to being comfortable with two or three long naps per day, maybe four-hours at a stretch. It turned out, that if I did not wake naturally and slept longer, it took me even more time to shake the sluggishness of slumber.

On the other hand, I also believed that I experienced further disturbing dreamenberings, by sleeping in smaller patches. My theory was that the less time that I spent in the Dreamlands, in a continuous period, or at regular intervals, the less nightmares or other dream-creatures were able to find me.

Even though it was uniform powdery-grey, the sky filled my room with crisp daylight. The December illumination was warmed, first by splashing off of the expanse of autumn hued leaves, like a fiery sea outside my picture window, then as it bounced around the rich golden-wood walls and furnishings of my chamber.

With a contented stretch, I was tempted to go to our haven’s common rooms in my red-flannel pajamas. Then, I considered what it would mean to have that precedence set. Tegan Bramblerose wandering around in her sleep-ware, would be fine, while I never really wanted to see any of my other housemates that casually attired. It happened anyway , of course. I dressed, though, in hopes of passively discouraging it from happening much more.

After making my way down the plank steps and rope bridges to shower and dress, then up to leave my PJs in my room, then down again to our main hall, I met with Raion-ju and Gavin Granitbane. Our mid-day meal qualified as breakfast, as it was each of our first meals of the day, in spite of being near to one-o’clock in the afternoon. Since our lovely tree-spirit caretaker still had some of the eggs which I had purchased and carried in, I opted for a more traditional breakfast. While my companions ate from plates of deliciously aromas roasted meat.

Rai sat, hunched slightly forward, taking up most of a sofa. Even sitting upright the large lackadaisical lad affected drowsy appearance. Rai used his clawed fingers to rend his roast fowl, from the wood plate on his lap. As black cat-ears flicked and sharp teeth chewed, I was struck with images of ancient Roman coliseums and the victorious lion finishing off an unfortunate gladiator. Gavin’s almost as massive ruddy-orange frame sat across from Rai, in a large wooden rocking chair, also eating a roast bird of some kind. The earthen fellow’s bare mitts were also greasy, as his chosen utensils. I just gave my head a resigned shake, at the sight.

Amaryllis provided slightly chunky wooden versions of cutlery. Plus, Amy had allowed Freerunner to bring packs of plastic forks and knives to the oak, as long as they were kept in cardboard boxes before and after use. However, such civilized options were apparently too much bother for my two hulking cohorts. Personally, I used a set of stainless-steel utensils which I kept in my “paranoia” pack. Additionally, I ate at the dining table, rather than hunching over the coffee table or balancing my plate on my knees.

Both of my companions sat near one of the two living room windows, but only Raion-ju seemed to look out of it, from time to time. I sat in the kitchen/dining area near the wide archway that connected the two rooms and was within easy sight and sound of the other two eaters. Amy, as usual, had faded into the wall, once I had thanked her for my sunny-side eggs, hash browns, jam laden toast, and hot tea.

          After simple greetings were exchanged, Gavin claimed, “Well, it looks like we really do need Rai or Tegan to get to and from this place.”

I made an ‘oh, really?’ sort of sound around my mouthful of fried eggs.

“Yeah,” the blocky-earthen fellow continued, “I tried to get us back from the bookstore last night, while Rai watched. He mentioned a couple of times where he would’ve turned different, but that my choices weren’t wrong, just longer. After a half-hour, I gave up.”

Our cat-eared companion seemed unaware of anything being said, as he turned his bird into easily swallowed ribbons of meat with his mouthful of razor sharp teeth.

I smiled, as I chewed, amused that intimidating Mr. Granitbane had been hassling Rai and Tegan to escort him through the Thorns, for all of those weeks. While the Inbetween was not to be taken lightly, Gavin was still a big boulder of a dude and easily one of the deadliest things that I had heard of within Thorn Maze. So, envisioning either of our Briar-guides holding the big orange guy’s rough hand, like an overgrown toddler being helped across the street, was delightful. Although, I was unable to decide which would be more hilarious looking. the two large males, or the petite lass and the lumpy rock fellow.

I also thought it was funny and sad that Gavin could not have been my only housemate to be under the misconception of needing a guide. I had far too many places that I wanted to be, in any given day, to waste my time waiting for someone to come get me. Certainly, I mitigated the danger by only traversing the Wilder Woods solo between the very familiar location of our haven and Ariadne’s Freehold. Even so, I had been doing so for a few weeks. Of course, I should not have been surprised that my, “oh-so-observant”, allies had not noticed.

“Huh,” sipping warm apple-cider from a wooden cup, I chose to mess with my earthen compatriot a bit, “sounds more like you just gave up too soon, or maybe the nighttime had some ill effect.” I waved my hand so as to display ,myself. “I came home alone, just past dawn… It took over an hour, but I made it okay.”

“Really?” Raised sandy-eyebrows and narrowed blue-eyes, conveyed Gavin’s skepticism. Then, after a minute of slow consideration, the polished-marble eyes widened with realization. Since, I was, in fact, home and Rai had not gone to get me, nor had Tegan arrived with me, then I must be telling the truth.

I was so pleased to see Gavin actually applying some basic reasoning, that I almost pointed out that Ms. Bramblerose could have brought me, then left again. Since it was not what had happened, I opted not to confuse the earthen fellow.

“Sure,” I added, “I wouldn’t say it was easy. I had to keep focused on where I was going. My mind wondered once or twice and I felt all turned around.” I shrugged. “So, I just took a breath and concentrated again, on our oak, and went the way that seemed right.”

I dismissed the idea to pretended that I had learned the same Briar Finding glamour as Rai and Tegan. That had too much potential to bite me on the ass, later. Instead, to maximize my impressiveness, I let Gavin assume that this had been my first attempt as well. On the other hand, it was fun to be a little condescending, as well, so I added, ”Besides, you know that, Dark Sol’s been coming and going, a few times per week. And _she’s_ always on her own.”

          Gavin needed the rest of our mealtime to process the information. Afterwards, the four of us just hung around for the afternoon, waiting for news from one of our other allies or inspiration of our own. I got Gavin to played some Rummy and won every game, even though I did not use my fortune manipulation glamours. Raion-ju moved seats a couple of times, apparently content to be near other people, without actually engaging with us. Amaryllis popped her face in a from time to times—from mirroring locations on the walls and ceiling—mostly just to remind us of her presence.

After several hours,, Sean Tallwind shuffle-limped in. The burn-scarred gnarling looked even more weary than usual. Sean grumbled something about coffee and Amy rolled her large brown-eyes, yet she did start a kettle boiling and produced a jar of Folgers, from one of the cupboards. I smiled, noticing that the opinionated forest-spirit formed thick barky gloves around her hands, before touching the plastic container. Amaryllis left Sean to fend for himself, from there.

A few minutes after Tallwind had stirred his instant granules into their approximation of coffee, brittle platinum locks crept up through the stairwell’s trapdoor. Below the bleached haystack-hair the pallid form of Dark Sol stiffly shambled, while inhaling deeply and making anticipatory yum-like sounds. I shivered. Whether vampire, or ghost, Sol’s darkling creepiness tended to remind me of some undead-creature or other—zombie, in this case.

However, part of my shivering was brought on by the thought of the instant so-called coffee. While I was not nearly as extremely against mortal world products, as Amy, I was stunned that my comrades could stomach the chemical additives were Folger’s, or any instant coffee. Even the normally pleasant aroma was tainted with a soapy-oily smell. So, it was understandable that Amaryllis had departed, she probably needed full concentration to manipulated the ventilation and scrub the stink out of her oaken interior.

The now five of us sat around the living room. Once the two new arrivals were able to process information, I filled everyone in on what I had learned of the crow’s foot. Sol was intrigued about the talisman, yet was even more interested in the Goblin Market, so we all recounted the previous night. When the collective narration reached the point of Sean and Vladimir’s bargain, I asked how the gnarling’s project was coming along.

’S alright.” Sean stretched his old-newsprint colored neck, from side to side, with slow careful movements, eliciting popping vertebra noises, The razor-thin scar that Doctor Barber had given Mr. Tallwind had healed from angry-salmon to bubblegum-pink. “Got the left bracer finished. Needed a breather, though. So, I’ll do the other one tomorrow.”

When Market talk was over, Gavin made sure to caution Sol of his failed attempt to lead Rai and Tallwind back to our safe-haven. The single minded muscleman having already forgotten my mentioning Dark Sol’s solo travels. I hummed a few jingles, just in case nigglers were to blame. Meanwhile, the drowsy darkling grinned politely and thanked Gavin for the warning, without drawing attention to having clearly found her own way back to the oaken homestead many times.

Sean snorted, over the lip of his ceramic mug. “You left out the best part.” He grumbled with mild sarcasm. “Cornelius the Riddling Hare.”

Gavin’s pebbled brow knitted with confusion for a moment, then he nodded his head in recollection. “Oh, yeah.”

Neither man even bothered to look for Rai’s recognition or input. Meanwhile I continued to try, very hard, to see fishy movements, in the air about the orange boulder of a cranium. Gavin must have had a swarm or cloud or whatever of the thought eaters, to not remember meeting someone in the Wilder Woods just the night before. I saw nothing, though.

Sean’s dull-brown eyes rolled, mildly disgusted. Then the wrinkled fellow addressed Me and Sol, “On the way here, we encountered a guy in the Briar. He was wearing a sack-cloth shirt and pants and he was real rabbit-y, -specially the ears.” His free hand mimed pulling an ear high up over his head.

“So, the same as Freerunner is like part weasel or otter or whatever?” Verified pallid Sol from the cushioned chair, where she was curled with bony legs tucked beneath her and a ceramic mug in both papery-pale hands. It was impossible to tell for certain if Dark Sol’s solid-black eyes actually glanced significantly towards Raion-ju, as well.

“Yep, only a rabbit, for this Cornelius character.” Tallwind continued. “He had been trackin’ us and Rai pointed ‘im out.”

Surprisingly, Rai nodded, when Sol and I looked over. Although, it was unclear whether the large dark lad had actually just been just reacting to the sound of his name.

When Raion-ju had nothing further to add, Sean shook his head slightly and went on. “ _Anyway_ … Rai wanted to lay an ambush, but Gavin and me just wanted to get home. So, we stopped and I called the lurker out.” Pause for a sip of beverage. “There was rustlin’, then this rabbit-guy drops out of a tree, ‘bout thirty-feet away, an’ says ‘What goes round and round the wood, but never goes into the wood?’”

A half shrug accompanied the crotchety fellow sipping more Folger’s, “I used to like riddles an’ I remembered that one. So, I told ‘im the answer an’ threw one back at ‘im, ‘I bind it and it walks. I loose it and it stops‘.” Sean seemed to enjoy not providing the answers, as he relayed the encounter. “That pleased the guy and he answered. That’s when he gives his name as Cornelius. Followed by askin’ what we were doin’.” A small sneer appeared with this head shake. “Not trustin’ the guy, I just said we were out for a stroll. In return, Cornelius says he was passin’ through and doing’ some huntin’.”

“Mostly,” Gavin yawned into the back of his blocky knuckles, “A non-event, but may be someone to watch out for.”

On the other hand, Sol and I merely nodded with circumspection. As Lit majors, the two of us clearly read the implication that Cornelius had been hunting our comrades.

More hours had passed with our quintet’s conversation. Sean was just asking Amy to prepare some food, when a call was heard from outside. “Hello!… Tegan Bramblerose!… Hello!” The deep baritone spoke loudly, rather than shouted.

The six of us looked to each other, then Amaryllis went very still for a moment. The shapely tree-spirit said, “There is someone, on the edge of the clearing. They’re just far enough to the north-north-west to barely be detected.”

Tensing, three of us grabbed up impromptu weapons—one of the sturdier chairs and a couple of the small tables. Rai and Gavin saw no need for additional weaponry, beyond their own person might, and they almost sped outside. The pair could be seen from the living room windows.

Mr. Granitbane and Raion-ju approached the woods, with the self-assuredness of the dangerous creatures that they were. The pair stopped, at the edge of our haven’s clearing, and conversed briefly with the unseen visitor. None of the people, in parlay, spoke loud enough to be heard from within the tree-house.

Part of me thought about messenger Philippe’s visitation, a couple of days earlier, and I was disturbed at the potential trend of uninvited guests. As my initial panic subsided, I returned my table to its place. I realized that it was very unlikely that an attacker would have announced themselves. Then, my racing thoughts did me the unkindness of imagining what I would do as an enemy. Specifically, if I were alone or with a small number of bandits. I could just see stumbling upon the unsuspecting Miss Bramblerose, as she was heading back to the oak. After ambushing Tegan and getting her name and destination from her, I would show up at the oak. Staying out of sight, I would then lure anyone within the tree-house out, preferably in small numbers. Then, coax them, one by one, into the woods and my awaiting snares.

Thankfully, my tactically fueled flights of horrible-fancy were limited by time. After only a minute or so, a humanoid figure, in dark garb and holding an open umbrella, stepped into our clearing. The stranger used the umbrella to keep the already defuse late-afternoon daylight off of him, which also continued to obscure his features from our elevated perspective. However, Sol did make a small ‘aha’ noise, as if the person’s appearance confirmed something.

Rai and Gavin led the mystery figure back to our tree. The two large fellows moved with a slight slump to their postures, as if disappointed that they were returning without having punched anything. Once at the door, I easily recognized the top-hat wearing and mostly skeletal visage of Baron Samdi of the Salamander Court.

I doubted that the gruesome melancholic darkling was the original or true Baron Samdi. I was unsure how much truth was in any of the world’s religions and mythologies, for that matter. Even so, the Samdi entering my communal home may have been old enough that the distinction was pointless. Regardless, I believed that it was most likely that Hawk Wood’s Baron Samdi had once been a mortal man, taken by a particularly grim Keeper, and while so enslaved took the name Baron Samdi—just as I selected Twilight Tommy, to protect my True Name.

In any event, the fae at our door looked his part, slightly ragged and disheveled dark dress-clothes, draped loosely over a frame of mostly exposed skeleton. A few patches of long dried, very grey, skin clung to the Baron’s skull and hands, the bit of hair on his head was as white as his bones. I found it as hard to look away, as to not stare rudely.

“Hello,” the Baron’s voice was deep and rich, in spite of no throat to produce it, and thickly accented with a Caribbean origin, “your friends,” he indicated Rai and Gavin, “have asked me in.”

Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, producing a grating stone on stone sound, , “I, uh, I wasn’t sure what to say.”

The Baron grinned at Gavin. Which was to say, the Baron turned his head towards the larger and blocky man, since skulls never stopped grinning. While Sean, Sol, and I stood in the doorway, a tad flatfooted.

Amaryllis spoke to our necrotic visitor, from behind the rest of us. “Shall you abide by reasonable hospitality?”

Baron Samdi could not see the dryad, from his position, yet he bowed gracefully to the rest of us. “Of course, I shall accept your gracious hospitality, as courteous guest.”        

I felt a release of tension that I had not realized had been there, as well as a hint of the _pang-hum_ which confirmed that I was part of a binding agreement. As the dryad was the oak and the oak our haven, then we all shared the responsibility to be hospitable. I wondered if my colleagues all fully understood the value and cost of hosting such a formally honored guest. Then, I wondered how much I really understood correctly, myself.

The lot of us escorted Samdi into the living room—perhaps ironically, considering his appearance. Once seated and provided with refreshments, the Baron spoke of the purpose for his visit. “I had hoped to speak wit de pretty, green-eyed Tegan.”

Baron Samdi’s deep island-voice rolled, between sips of the beer which Gavin and Iron Wade had made certain to stock. It was fascinating to watch the process, the Baron had no lips, the bottle’s rim clinked lightly on the bony fellow’s teeth, and the micro-brew poured out the bottom of his exposed jaw. Then, the dark liquid ran straight down, yet somehow had made it to the back of the Baron's mouth, to pour down just in front of his neck bones. Baron Samdi’s crisp-white shirt-front remained dust-dry. Thankfully, my wonderment over-road my natural inclination to be disturbed by darkling spirit-touched.

“Dat’s a fine refreshment.” Samdi added absentee, raising the bottle to read its label, with his eyeless sockets.

“Miss Bramblerose,” I offered from my seat nearest the stairs, “is away in Athens. Unfortunately, we do not expect her soon to return.” Something about Baron Samdi, like many of the fae I met in Athens, made me want to speak as if I were in a Bronte novel.

Taking the information in stride, Samdi casually moved on to small talk. Probing gently for information about our household in general, how did we like the region, had any of us been able to acquire connections within the Salamander Court, when would we take advantage of the boon which Queen Glass had granted us, were we working for someone, did we prefer spending time at Ariadne's, did we plan to pledge to the Court, and similar.

We all denied any current connections, as Jesse Frost had requested. However, the talk of pledging to the Court peaked our combined interest. I was impressed with how deftly the Autumnal noble reacted to my comrades light barrage of counter questions. Baron Samdi mostly waited until the question-go-round had tapered off then addressed the gist of the inquiries, rather than any one specific question.

Baron Samdi explained some of the merits of belonging to a court—food, shelter, lots of sworn allies watching your back, etcetera. Mostly stuff we had already discovered. Although, to illustrate his point about safety in numbers, Samdi pointed out, “If dis charming oak were to be attacked, den you all have no one obliged to come to your aid… But den, maybe you tink you safe enough as long as you pledged together, as a motley, yeah?” His skull pivoted, presumably assessing our faces. “You all has, at least, pledged to not kill each other, for sure, yeah?”

“We,” Gavin smiled, somewhat gormlessly, “uh, haven’t had the need.”.

Samdi shook his skull in slow disbelief. “You all is more trusting dan me, I can tell you dat.”

I decided to change topics. It had occurred to me that we were giving the charming skeleton a lot more about us and our interests, than we were getting in return. Plus, I the allusion to our haven’s vulnerability came a bit to was to a threat, for my comfort. With the revelation that my household was not sworn to protect each other, my mind raced at how easy it would be to dupe or bribe certain of my associates, against the rest of us.

“Baron, you’ve been around a while, so maybe you can tell us something about this?” I pulled the crow’s foot pendant from my pocket, holding it so the claw open facing my palm, if it opened.

Theoretically, I was still benefiting from the last exposure of good luck. My reading had not suggested what would happen if I got another dose before the first wore off and, considering what I knew of faery magics, I very much hoped that I would not find out.

While remaining seated, on the sofa, Baron Samdi also tried to push as far from the ebon-talisman as possible. The undead-ish courtier tucked his bony hands under his loose pant legs. “Hey, mon, I don’t wanna see dat!”

Placing the foot back in my pocket and grinning internally, I asked nervously, “It’s _that_ scary?”

Samdi relaxed a little, forcibly regaining some composure, “Well, it’s bad juju, dat’s for sure.”

I asked for any details our guest may be able to impart and my allies shared their earlier speculations. The Baron confirmed everything that I had found via my book research. Additionally, the zombie noble admitted, “I doan tink dere be a way to use de ting to track de holder.” At one point Samdi also claimed, “I heard dat it be possible dat de black-foot can be fed secrets.”

“What? Like personal secrets? Like memories?” Sean Tallwind grumped, speculatively, clearly remembering the Goblin Market’s preferred currency.

“Aye,” nodded our decomposing visitor, “It’s supposed ta balance de price of de bad luck.”

“ _So_ ,” I drew out the word and rubbed my chin, “what sort of secrets are we talking about? My ninth grade locker combination?”

“I doubt dat.” Samdi’s shrug was almost like watching Lincoln-Logs rearranging themselves. “Big juju, like dat, require big payments… I guess dat since yous tryin’ ta avoid bad luck, den you secret best be dirty and bad for someone, at least.”

Nodding, I frowned at how right that felt.

“So,” Dark Sol had seated herself right up next to our bony guest, “if it’s so powerful, why would anyone just give it away?”

As night had well and truly fallen, Sol’s form had undergone its nocturnal rejuvenation. The lass’s hair had become silky, her skin almost pearlescent, and figure distractingly taught and curvy. So, I was pretty sure that Baron Samdi did not mind Sol’s crowding on the sofa, even without being able to read his lack of facial features.

The Baron’s skull faced the slinky woman, “I guess, it cause de last guy too much grief. So, he slips it ta you.” The rictus visage turned and nodded at me.

“But, why the hit and run tactic?” Gavin was making the gravel grinding noise by rubbing the back of his neck, again.

“I say de tings bad juju, yeah? And who wants it den?” Samdi asked rhetorically. “Nobody ta be sure. So, give it away, witout having ta explain. Also, de new owner can’t give it back, ya see?” Bone-hands spread, as if he were displaying a bounty. Then, the Baron excused himself politely and went on his way.

I felt as if Samdi might have stayed longer, if not for the crow’s foot. I was glad the courtly darkling left, though, as I was certain that he had ulterior motives. I could only hope that we had not already given the well connected fellow everything that he was after. Clutching the totem in my pocket, I relied on the probability that the good fortune, which most of us were experiencing, must have helped us keep an edge. Just as it had aided in expelling the disturbing guest,

Mr. Tallwind finally got the meal he had been going to ask for a few hours earlier and the rest of us joined him. Over dinner, it was agreed that I would return to Ariadne’s Freehold the following morning and find out as much as I could regarding “motleys” and related pledges. From what Baron Samdi had implied, all of us thought it might be better safe than sorry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Containing: trials of research,

a couple of meetings, and

tribulations of travel throughout 

After a productive evening of writing and relaxing, I went to sleep well past midnight. No dreams or dream-like things disturbed my slumber. Yet, I woke with a stiff neck and back. Presumably, I had hunched over my desk, too long, though no such aches had ever accompanied the scores of time that I had done the exact same things.

          My large south-facing picture-window bathed my solarium in morning’s glow. The clear sky allowed Sun’s molten tide to caress the polished wood ceiling and walls, causing dark-grain patterns to seem to ripple. I felt too foul, to appreciate the aesthetics and seriously considered covering my head and hiding in bed for the day.

          I could sense the sharp-edged Autumn chill which lurked just beyond my room’s threshold. On the other hand, rather than the normal coziness, my room felt as if Amaryllis had raised the heat. So, in addition to my sore back muscles, I was coated in a thin uncomfortable layer of perspiration. Even so, my desire to avoid the day would have kept me in bed forever… or, at least, until my hunger, or need for the toilet grew more pressing.

Instead, Amy’s wild-fiery maned head phased from the wall, near to my face, “The big cat is waiting for you.” I groaned, she materialized an arm to prod me with a dowel-like finger. “You said that you would go. I heard you. So, you should get on with it.”

Sighing, I got up, checked my notes for the day, and got dressed. My best Levi’s were caked with red Nevada dust, so for my less-than-stylish pair. My Doc Marten’s were similarly dirty, but I had no other footwear suitable for hiking through the Thorns. At least, my goldenrod silk shirt was well pressed and would be protected by my coat, on the journey.

The night before, the panther-esque path-finder had agreed to usher me, once more, to Ariadne’s Freehold, so that I could research motleys and pledge-bonding. Unable to remain in bed, I would have proffered a shower and warm meal. However, with disinterested Raion-ju as my guide, I chose not to risk either activity. My phlegmatic and introspective ally might well leave without me, perhaps forgetting why he had been going at all. There was some temptation to simply let that happen. Then, I calculated that I would loose too much time to the Briar, trying to find my own way, and I did have other business than just the research, to which I planned to attend.

As it turned out, the two of us still took nearly twice as long as ever before, to reach Ariadne’s Freehold. Still faster than my best solo travel, but not by much. Rai, of course, did not say anything, though, I would bet that he got turned around, more than once, on the trek. Proving that glamours were never completely reliable. Plus, I was sure that it did not help that the dense foliage was wet and ground muddy, as if torrential rains had fallen in the night.

Unrelated to travel time, yet adding to overall unease, the creaking and scuttling noises of the Wilder Wood were all much larger and closer sounding, than usual. I also kept forgetting to sing jingles to myself. Thus, I suspected that Rai had led us through a large cloud or school or whatever of nigglers.

          Needless to say, my mood had not improved, by the time that Rai and I stepped through the French-doors of Ariadne’s Briar-garden entrance. Raion-ju, his job done, just slumped into a divan near the doors and moped. Meanwhile, I had yet to actually start my day’s activities.

          I put off beginning a little longer, in order to try and take a personal centering moment. Making my way to the tea room, I bought a cup of hot tea and a warm snozberry tart, from Day-Chef Rosa.

Normally pleasant and helpful, Rosa was a Hispanic woman with oddly flattering blue and white diamond-shaped face-tattoos and cute little forehead horns. The chef would often sit and chat with, or at least smile invitingly. That morning, however, Rosa was too distracted with something smoking in her kitchen. So, our transaction was abrupt, before she ran back out of sight.

Then, as I sat down, at one of the undersized tables, I somehow managed to spill tea on my lap. So, my jeans were soaked from groin to knee by tea, to match the knee down soaking the Briar foliage had caused. Next, I stuck my elbow in my tart, staining my yellow silk-shirt with dark purpley berry filling. Sighing, I chalked it all up to my drowsiness, tight shoulders, and the lightly twisted ankle which I had acquired on the hike. Needless to say, my hope for the revitalizing powers of the tea and pastry, were waning.

          From all the various studying that I had been doing in Ariadne’s, over the preceding month, I believed that I generally knew for most topics. Heck, Law had been practically the first section, at which I had ever looked, and that had to be where the key sources on vowing and pledging was kept. Yet, it took me close to six-hours, for what had expected to take two or three. Books which might have helped me had not been re-shelved, or had been shelved incorrectly. Matters were made worse from the lack of Freehold archivists, to ask for assistance. When I did stumble onto Alistair Tomes, the Head Archivist, he could only answer a few brief question, as he was heading from a collapsed-shelf crisis to an ink-spillage incident. Over and over again, I found myself silently cursing the absence of a card catalog and fantasizing of much more efficient biblio-organizational methods—thesaurus-style layout was weak sauce. I even got temporally lost, twice.

Eventually, and in spite of the relentless set backs, I concluded that I had compiled as much relevant data, as could be expected. With over a dozen pages of notes, tucked away in my backpack, I looked to my iPhone6S for the time and it was out of power. Trekking back to the tea room, Rosa did smile warmly as she told me the time, and I groaned.

My other reason for wanting to come to the Freehold was to attend the high-tea to which I had been mysteriously invited. As it termed out, I would be able to make it to the meeting. However, thanks to my surprisingly extended research session, a sacrifice would be required.

My intention had been to arrive at the meeting well groomed and somewhat fed (thus avoiding embarrassing stomach noises or overeating), as well as bringing a gift for the host. Having skipped my morning shower, I simply had to bathe before going to the tea, plus my stained clothes needed changing. So, I would have to drive to and from my group’s rental house, for the shower, stopping at a store along the way for a new outfit. In turn, only leaving me enough time to either grab a vile-tasting fast food meal, or pick up a decent gift.

As I sped out of Sheaves & Leaves and into my Camero IROC-Z, I opted for purchasing the high-end box of chocolates and hoping I could restrain any embarrassing stomach sounds. Since the chocolatier was in the same mall as the Lord & Taylor, where I bought my new shirt and slacks, I should have had plenty of time to get back to Ariadne’s. Instead, two separate negligent-drivers nearly collided with me. Not to mention, the light sleet which pelted out of no-where. If I had been a slightly less capable driver, my GT would have been a mess.

As it was, only having the elegantly scribed direction, from my invitation, allowed me to speed-walk through the extensive rare books collection with any hope of not missing the appointed altogether. The directions led me through a half-dozen designs of architecture, even more types of furnishings, and ubiquitous book-laden shelves. Although, the last room which I entered was a greenhouse, containing no books. The plants and trees varied too widely to describe, yet none were so fantastic as to stick out to my preoccupied mind.

The one greenhouse feature, that I did notice, was a large table, in its center. At first, I assumed that the table held a display of many bonsai trees. As I passed closer, the display resolved to be a diorama, of all sorts of plants in miniature, as if it were a 1/25th scale park or glade, with a tiny gazebo in the very middle of the mini-garden.

Hesitating, I wondered if that toy might somehow be my destination, as a gazebo had been mentioned in my directions. Rechecking my invite-instructions, I verified that the gazebo which I sought was specified to be outside, having passed through the greenhouse’s western egress. So, I found that door and exited the building, into a manicured Elizabethan-style garden. A foot-path of shimmering sand led to a central gazebo—a grown-up twin to the diorama.

Approaching the garden structure, I felt confident that I was more than fashionably late for my meeting. Mainly because I met my host as he was exiting the gazebo, Panama hat on and walking stick in hand. A moments pause and the elfin fellows plink of surprise became a polite smile of greeting.

The dapper spirit-touched, wore an immaculate white-linen three-piece suit and matching leather shoes, reminding me simultaneously of Mark Twain era riverboat gamblers and depictions of early twentieth-century British travelers to the Middle-East and other hot climates. The elegant fellow was thin, yet healthy looking, with olive complexioned skin, clean shaven, and had wavy shoulder-length hair which glowed and changed color—electric blue faded gently to lavender, than rose, and so on. His eyes match his locks, with the “whites” being slightly more pastel and the large irises changing color more sharply than the hair.

“Um, hi!” I made a single arcing wave before me, while holding my invitation up with my other hand. “I’m Twilight Tommy.. most people just call me Tommy.”

“I am known as Nathan Girsu.” The slender elf’s voice was cultured and only vaguely European, as he smiled politely. “Won’t you join me.” In one fluid motion, he stepped backwards into the gazebo, removed his hat, and swept an arm invitingly.

The interior banister was ringed with built in benches, which were upholstered with some sort of suede. The seating was then thoroughly obscured under dozens and dozens of pillows and cushions. Opposite the entryway, a small knee-high table was set with a tea service for two.

Preparing to sit, I removed my backpack and remembered my gift. I pulled forth and presented Mr. Girsu with the large assortment of Vosage’s chocolates. I had somehow (niggler, most likely) forgotten that this was a private meeting not a larger gathering, so the size of my gift was very disproportionate.

Needing both hands to accept the box, Nathan set it aside on the cushions, politely saying, “Perhaps, I shall set this aside for a grander occasion.”

My host then offered me tea, from the Art Deco style ceramic tea set. While I finally remembered that the meeting was meant to be intimate, I was still surprised that Mr. Girsu had not invited one or two other people. I also worried that the other guests had left. On the other hand, the tea service was only set for two. So, to fill space, as the rakish fellow poured, I asked, “Ah, it’s just the two of us?”

“I thought it best,” Nathan nodded, peach-colored follicles swaying, “that we assess our own social compatibility, before complicating matters with a larger gathering.”

“And how is it that you know of me?” My curiosity was weary, though I did prevent my eyes from narrowing.

“You came to my attention, over the last few weeks.” Girsu’s irises flashed to a crystalline mint-green, as his matching hair slowly started towards turquoise. “Your fervent study habits are noteworthy, in our little community. Plus, I heard stories, some from quite a ways away.”

“Oh, uh, are people talking about _me_? Who?...” I accepted the offered cup and reigned in my rising panic. “Uh, whom? And what are they saying?”

“Oh, nothing bad, to be sure.” Nathan Girsu sipped his tea. “We would not be here now, if that were the case.” His minty eyes met mine, then the eyes flicked to turquoise. “I cannot say that any one individual or other spoke of you, specifically. More that stories of you and your acquaintances exploits have been recounted. I was particularly impressed with a poem…”

Nathan then recited a stanza from one of the poems which I had written, in order to tout my gang’s prowess. My self-assured host’s oration was quite flattering and poignant, capturing the tone I had intended in my poetry far better than my own recitations skills ever had..

“Oh, yeah,” I nodded, affecting some aplomb, “I wrote that. It was easier than most, because it was true.”

Nathan’s eyes widened, ever so slightly, revealing how impressed he was. Then, I attempted further gentle questioning, for specifics regarding Mr. Girsu’s sources of information pertaining to me. Socially politic Nathan deftly avoided providing identifying details. So, the most that I could conclude was that Nathan Girsu had contacts within the Red Court of the Western Territories, since I had only ever recited the poem mentioned, in Las Vegas.

Eventually, I simply blurted out, “So, um, why am I here? I mean, what sort of thing are you looking for from me?”

I suspected that there was a sexual aspect to Mr. Girsu’s interest, which I knew that I was unprepared to address. Nor did I want to offend the charming elf, who seemed well versed in etiquettes, from which I could certainly benefit. Thankfully, Nathan kept our conversation fairly business-casual.

“I like to think of it as a mutually beneficial, social enhancement.” Girsu’s Crest-commercial teeth filled his warm smile.

“Um,” I absently tugged at the lobe of one of my pointed ears, “I’m not sure what that means. But, it sort of sounds a little… um, prostituty?”

Nathan Girsu chuckled, “Mayhap, in the most broad sense.” An elegant hand waved dismissal. “No, seriously, though, it is more akin to a social club of talented individuals. Not as rigid as the natural philosophers of the early nineteenth century, yet less informal than the Algonquin round table.”

“Okay,” I smiled, pleased both to recognize the references and to realize that they were a test of my ability to recognize them, “so you gather spirit-touched together to swap ideas and information?”

“Well, not exactly.” Nathan pursed his full lips. “Our salons tend to be more about creative expressions. Although, sharing knowledge does often occur, as a secondary effect.” He sipped more tea. “Now that I have confirmed that it was your poetry I had heard, I would like to ascertain if your temperament might be suited to our gatherings.”

“So, ah, this is an interview, or audition?” I reined in my enthusiasm, more from recent personal disappointments, than any inclination to play it cool.

The majority of spirit-touched that I had encountered had been standoffish to outright suspicious. The few exceptions had been people working, so their true motivations were masked by a patina of customer service. With the exception of my sultry girlfriend Pashmi, of course. Or, they were sociopaths, who communicated best through violence, like the redcaps or my housemates. So, I really did not want to blow my chance to meet other fae interested in art and intellectual pursuits.

“Yes,” nodded Nathan, “though again, not so formal as either of those circumstances.” Adjusting pillows, he sat back, while his hair faded from pumpkin to a more golden shade. “Mostly, I want to make certain that you will not embarrass me. Artists can be too avant-garde, for company. The sane is true of spirit-touched in general. So, spirit-touched artists…” He flipped a hand, palm upwards. “Let us just say that reputations have been adversely effected.”

My suspicion-meter spiked. “It’s surprisingly altruistic of you to be concerned for me to that extent.”

“It would be, if true.” Nathan Girsu chuckled some more. “It is my face that I am inclined to save.” He touched his fingers to his chest. “As someone that I introduce to the salons, it is my reputation that will rise or fall based on your initial impression. Similarly, my relatively impressive standing will be linked to you, providing fairly high initial expectations.” A half shrug. “Unfortunately, that height only means there shall be farther to fall, should you misstep, dragging me with you via the link.”

“So, it’s not really so much about art, as high school cliquishness?” I sighed into my tea.

Nathan also sighed, “That is simply the state of most spirit-touched gatherings. However, the main purpose of the salons, truly is to display our talents. It just happens that my primary talent is for finding acceptably entertaining people.”

I still had suspicions. However, Girsu seemed to be speaking more earnestly with me than any other changeling I had met, even allowing for the possibility that he was using some sort of glamour to seem more convincing or charming. If nothing else, I detected none of the calculating of Jesse Frost, nor any sense of implied threat, like with Baron Samdi.

Over an hour or two, I only grew more relaxed with the sanguine spectrum-shifting elf. Nathan asked questions and made comments, as I described my interests in literature, poetry, cars, and gambling. I felt listened to, in a way that was rare. Few encounters in my mortal life had seemed so genuine. Nor did Mr. Girsu press me to answer.

For example, Nathan asked, “Where do you see yourself headed? Are you planning to formally swear allegiance to the Freehold or to Hawk Wood?” His tone even left room for me to have other options.

“I really haven’t given that a lot of thought.” I hedged my answer. “Having barely begun to research what such memberships could mean for me, I’m hesitant to pledge my loyalty or service or whatever.”

Nodding approvingly , Nathan replied, “Well, my salons do require vows of civility and peaceable actions. However, no commitments so grand as fealty.”

Another major point in the pro-Girsu column of my mental score-card. Unlike all of the other, more experience spirit-touched, whom I had encountered, Girsu was offering me details, rather than waiting to see if I guessed the right questions to ask. Additionally, Nathan had no qualms about sharing his far more knowledgeable view of politics and social morays. The colorful elfin fellow even knew bits of expected etiquette for a score of fae Courts and sub-associations (such as his own salons), including aspects of the Red Court.

So, as much as I was auditioning and relating tales of my recent history, I also learned a few things. Although, some of the knowledge was about self assessment. Such as realizing that Pashmi and other cholerically humored individuals were not the only people whose company I could enjoy. Nathan was Graced by Springair, with a faint audible aura of buzzing bees and a living bracelet of wild flowers, yet we got along swimmingly.

It was also refreshing to witness another spirit-touched express concern for someone else’s wellbeing, especially as that wellbeing was mine. In particular, when I got around to mentioning my most recent research, into motley oaths, and the reasons for doing it, Girsu’s navy-eyes went wide, ”You mean, you live with the likes gnarlings, ogres, and darklings and _none_ of you has taken the precaution of vowing non-violence against one another?” Shaking his head caused his long hair to leave plumb-colored trails. “I strongly suggest that you convince them to make such an oath, as soon as possible. For your own safety.”

“Do you know something about them, that I don’t.” I sat up straighter.

“Well,” Nathan cocked his head to the side, to consider, “perhaps claiming gnarlings was a step too far. However, ogres and darklings are notoriously dangerous and volatile, in general.” He added three sugar cubes to a fresh cup of tea. “Especially, towards spirit-touched of differing outlooks or appearances. Even if they are behaving at the moment.” Finished with stirring the elfin lad sat back, with his tea cop. “There is not telling when their violent predilections may surface, or why, or if they will be able to control themselves. Unless, of course, the Gyr has been engaged to provide encouragement and consequences to limit such impulses.”

“I’m pretty sure that I see what you mean.” I nodded thoughtfully, from where I had nestled back into the pillows. “Although, um, I’m not familiar with how you’re using the term Ogre.”

“Hmm,” Nathan Girsu tapped his chin with a finger, “how would you describe darklings?”

I shrugged, “Creepy fae that are fascinated with death and decay.” I scratched my cheek, while recalling. “I had found a passage, in one of the books,” a nod towards the Freehold’s main building, “that claimed their love of anything morbid, shapes their outward appearances, as well.”

“Which is true for all of us, more or less.” Nathan set his cup down and brushed imagined lint from his slacks. “Something about what the Folk have done to us means that our inner selves tend to manifest on our outer selves. We talk of wearing Graces,” he raised his flowered wrist, “yet, they are as much what we display as our attitudes and beliefs. Even if one does use the synonym ‘humor’.”

I nodded appreciatively and eager to here more on the subject. Nathan’s explanation seemed like an excellent way to short-cut some of the research which I had been putting off.

“I digress.” My prismatic host instead waved his hand, as if dispersing the hazy tangent. “My point was to be that, some spirit-touched are so strongly enamored with the gruesome and morbid that we deem them to be darklings. Similarly, ogres are prone to thoughtless violence and physicality for physicality’s sake.”

Images of Raion-ju and Gavin Granitbane popped effortlessly forward. Which led me back to discussing my would-be motley, as whole and the research I had struggled with all morning. Only to have Nathan debunk a fair amount of what I thought that I had learned. Not that I had been completely wrong, just that about half of my notes were unnecessary. Although, the rainbow-haired sprite did also add a few elements which I had completely missed. I was grateful, in spite of my cheeks being flushed with embarrassment for not having done better on my own.

In my enthusiasm to seem interesting, I almost mentioned Jesse Frost and the All Mostly dilemma. A _pang,_ in my chest and gut, reminded me that doing so would break the promise I had made to the wintery regent. As a substitute, my piecemeal mind tossed out the black bird-foot talisman. With consideration to Baron Samdi’s reaction, I left the pendent in my pack and merely described it to Mr. Girsu.

While Nathan did was not familiar with my trinket specifically, he did observe, “You realize, that the inconveniences, which you have mentioned from earlier—the jelly pastry mess, the difficulties finding books, being late, and so forth—are all probably related to that totem. This being the day after it looked at you.”

I smacked my forehead in amazement over the obvious truth and my obliviousness to it. Which helped a couple more pieces click into place. The magical bad-fortune was probably responsible for my obliviousness. Also, to my further embarrassment, I was over-staying my welcome, after having arrived late.

“I apologize,” I attempted to save some face, as I gathered up my paranoia-pack, “I found this so delightful, that I completely lost track of time. I shall go and let you have what remains of your day.”

Nathan’s full lips and sparking eyes smiled appreciatively. “I believe this went well… Especially, considering your circumstance.” He extended a business card. “I hope that you shall not mind, if I contact you. When the details of our next salon are announced?”

The unadorned card was hand caligraphied with Nathan’s name, a telephone number, and an Athens Ohio post-office box. I was so pleased to receive the contact information and the clear indication that I had passed my “audition”, that I nearly missed another social cue. Even though I was disappointed with myself for not having a similar contact card, I still needed to reciprocate. So, I had to resort to my pocket notepad. After scrawling my name, iPhone6S number, and both my PO box and the rental house’s address, I tore out the page and handed it to Girsu. I could only hope that including the street address would seem like an impressive trust move.

Returning to the main Victorian-style garden, I used Nathan’s original invitation directions. Unfortunately, Mr. Girsu had not provided any food and having to skip my lunch, plus coming down from the adrenalin rush of my meeting, all meant that I was not thinking as clearly as usual. So, I kept forgetting to read the instructions from bottom up. Thus, prolonging my journey, yet again.

After I did finally pass through the familiar French-doors, I spent too many long minutes, at the garden’s edge, staring into the late-afternoon Briar. The Floral gloom was enticing and foreboding as always. No matter dangerous, the unnerving Thorn Maze always called out to some part of me. A call which I was trying to decide whether or not to resist.

Before coming to the Victorian garden, I had stepped out the front of Sheaves & Leaves and made a couple of phone calls. Neither Tegan nor Rai had answered their cells. I had considered calling any of my other haven-mates, but concluded that was just pointless procrastination.

The previous day, I had sped—almost, glided—through the Thorns to Amy’s oak. While alone then as well, the sun had been rising. Even though the trees of the Wild Woods effectively blotted out daylight, having Sun in the sky still tempered a fair amount of the Briar’s threatening nature. As I stood there, a day and a half later, I was contending with both Night embracing the Edge Maze and my magically messed up fortune.

Ultimately, I told myself that sleeping in the empty rental on a sheep air-mattress was just as bad as hiking the darkened forest. Although, I did reach into my mental-bag of glamour secrets and wyrd reserves, to grant my trek Fortune’s Favor. Sadly, one of the secrets of that glamour was that attempts to double it up, caused backlash problems. So, I was just hoping reduce some of the crow’s foot bad juju.

To reduce distractions, I tricked Summer’s Embrace into effect—easy as usual, with my strike-anywhere matches. Then, to aid my passage further—also as usual, for Wilder Woods hikes—I made certain to have my faery-light aura as bright as possible. Even though, I worried more than usual about attracting predators, the chances of twisting my ankle or falling into a pit were also increased. “Stupid, bad-luck dingus.” I muttered under my breath, realizing that the talisman had probably been responsible for me neglecting these precautions on my morning trip. Which had, indeed, included a twisted ankle.

Concentrating on my destination produced an extremely faint twinge in my nose, when it pointed the right way. I sometimes wondered how well I would need to know my destination to find it. The more times I returned to Ariadne’s Freehold, the twinge became more noticeable. While seeking my oaken tree-haven offered a very clear tingling.

So, I moved as quickly as I dared, while also maintaining my footing and concentrating on the oak. I also made efforts to appear determined, alert, and unappetizing. I even remembered to hum jingles, too.

On the other hand, I still only recalled the same tedious handful of commercial ditties. Plus, all of those disparate mental activities distracted me. As a result, I spent a lot more time back-tracking, than usual.

However, some of my difficulty was external as well. In addition to the Briar’s “normal” sharp and clinging vines and underbrush, the terrain was more maze-like than ever. Fallen trees and leaves piled high, by the wind, as well as rolling fog banks, made barriers between the pillar-like trunks. Plus, the drifts of leaves and odd patches of gravel or sand, easily concealed any number of possible pitfalls, to be avoided.

On more than one occasion, I found myself wondering if I could learn the secrets to a glamour which muffled skin-tingling noises or disguise moldering odors. Which, of course, were distracting thoughts and I had to reorient myself towards home, yet again.

Relief washed through me, as I finally stepped into the starless clearing of my communal tree-house. It had taken me easily two-and-a-half times long to get home, than Raion-ju had taken to get us the same distance that morning. I wobbled, as my tension-filled muscles relaxed. The thought that it may have been forty-eight hours since the crow’s foot had activated, flitted through my consciousness. While hopeful, I chose to remain wary, until the next morning.

Upon entering the vaulted living room, I was greeted with amazing aroma of cooking meat and fresh baked bread. Most of my housemates were present, lazing about or just starting to meander into the dining area.

As polite acknowledgements were exchanged, Iron Wade’s dull metallic-grey eyes absently tracked me, as if he were also doing mental calculations. “Hey, Tommy, where are you coming from?”

“Sheave & Leaves.” I answered without inflection. “I was researching motley vows. Like we all discussed, last night.” I hoped the reminder would be enough, to prevent a replay of that conversation.

“You traveled alone, after dark?” Vaguely impressed Gavin Granitbane stood with his bulky arms crossed over his blocky chest.

“Yeah, well,” I set my paranoia-pack and jacket on one of the empty hard-wood chairs, “I couldn’t get a hold of anyone. And I did leave before sunset. It just took forever to get here.” I was not interested in repeating the Briar travel conversation with Gavin, either.

“Wait a second…” Tegan Bramblerose proceeded to ask me several precisely detailed questions, sun position an shadow length sort of things. After I answered each methodical inquiry, the auburn-haired lass chimed out a quick “Ha!” smiling mischievously. “I’ve no idea how we missed you,” a perfectly manicured wine-colored thumbnail fanned between herself and the haggard-faced Wade, “but we must have left there within minutes of you. And we’ve been here for… like an hour or more.” Laughing emerald eyes betrayed, Tegan’s serious raspberry-red lips. “Gee, Tommy, if only you hadn’t hesitated, so long before heading out, one of us probably would’ve heard you trailing us.” Feigned innocence dripped from her words.

          While the group sniggered, I wanted to deflect the razzing. Since that sort of attention flowed easiest downhill, I targeted the one person that looked worse than I felt. Sean Tallwind was slumped in his chair, pouting, with a shoe-box in his lap. So, ignoring the snickering, I asked, “You look even more glum than usual, Sean, what’s up?”

“It’s these damn gloves.” The leather-smithing gnarling growled, at the box in his lap. “Been workin’ on ‘em all frickin’ day. No, strike that, just the right one.” A disgusted head-shake set his jowls to wobbling. “I’m just repeatin’ yesterday’s work, damn it.” Sean sagged further into the chair, like a crumpled half-empty yellowish sack. “But, they just won’t match.”

Dowel-rod digits lifted the pair of scaly gloves, from the shoe-box, both were very sleek and cool. Although, where the left accessory shimmered with a multi-hues oil-slick quality, the right looked more like it had a film of shifting shadow, all over it.

“Feels like I’ve worked three-times harder,” Sean seemed unable to pull his dejected glower from the black-striped gloves.

          Calming Tegan, encouraging Gavin, and neutral Wade, each tried to console the Tallwind, albeit halfheartedly, as it was clear that this was not the first time that each had made the attempt. Disinterested Raion-ju remained quiet. Absentee Freerunner was supposedly off making money, in his taxi. Sadistically grinning Dark Sol seemed amused by Sean's plight, or the futile efforts to cheer him, or both.I merely nodded noncommittally.

          It was clear, to me, that Tallwind had been laboring under the same ill-fortune effects as had I, and presumably Gavin and Rai, as well. However, I saw no reason to point it out. Foremost, I saw that Sean was too disgruntled to appreciate positive comments. Besides, considering the consistency of the burnt gnarling’s negative and contrary attitude, I found it hard enough to not reciprocate. Also, the gloves were made and there was not going back. Plus, Sol was right, Mr. Tallwind’s frustration was funny.

Thankfully, the futile pep-up-Sean talk was brief, as Amaryllis called us to supper. Around our large ovoid dining-table, I distilled my days research. “As we’ve talked about before, we know that the Gyr binds spirit-touched to our promised word. We actually _feel_ any vow that we make, or have made to us.”

Around the table, a combination of dull-looks and vague-comprehension, convinced me that was right to start with the refresher. It baffled me that something which had become part of them was still a mystery to my associates. Even if I also refused to talk to any other spirit-touched, I still had the literature at Ariadne’s to learn from.

“A broken oath,” Stifling a sigh, I went on, “is even more tangible. Oathbreakers can be sensed about, or so I’ve read.” I helped myself to more mashed potatoes, ”And sensed by any other fae, not just those that had been forsworn.”

“What’s it Like?” Gavin cut in. “Have any of you sensed an oathbreaker?”

Each diner considered, before responding in the negative. I took the opportunity to enjoy the roast venison, which Amy had prepared, while the others spoke.

Eventually, dour Iron Wade asked, “So, why should any of us ever bother making pledges or whatever?” His fork stabbed at his deer-meat. “It would be easier to never promise anything and not risk the stigma.”

“Well,” Tegan Bramblerose offered, “it’s kind of hard not to, when every purchase is a pledge to provide certain goods or services, in exchange for others.”

“Also,” I took the conversational reins back, “if a pact requires some time to fulfill, or is vital enough, then the Gyr tends to make such bargains magically beneficial.” I position a morsel of meat and potatoes on my fork. “Usually, the fae obligated to do a thing is granted some mystical enhancement or gift.”

          An exiting prospect as far as I was concerned. It made me wonder if Amy received some enhancement, for having agreed to work as our haven. On the other hand, my fellow residents all seemed to be glamour-shy. So, I did not mention the side-topic.

          “What sort of mystical enhancements?” Sean asked, before bighting down on a forkful of spuds.

          I had to shrug, “All sorts of stuff. Improved abilities, like better reflexes in sports, or more knowledge of how wounds affect anatomy, and so on. Better looks, or a measure of fame seemed pretty popular. Even gaining loyal pets or servants are apparently possible. The stories range from subtle to fairly blatant and minor to quite noteworthy.” I drank some mulled cider.

“Obviously, my focused was on motley vows.” I cut another mouthful of my second portion of venison. “And an official oath is the defining factor of what truly makes a motley. Every member of a motley swears a formal oath to each other. Usually, promising to provide protection and aid to one another, with not killing each other, as a minimum.” I chewed and swallowed my savory morsel, before adding. “Supposedly, the pledge can also be worded to extend into dreams.

“Is that the magical enhancement part?” Dark Sol’s gravy stained lips stood out in stark contrast to her other monochromatic features.

I shook my head, “Not as far as I can tell. The dream thing was always mentioned as an obligation. The mystic blessings or boons or whatever, were in addition to, although they tended to be related to the wellbeing of the given motley. Like, for example, a motley of mercenary warriors gained improved first aid skills and access to a sympathetic physician who wouldn’t ask questions.”

          “So, what’s ‘into dream’ mean?” Grizzled Tallwind asked around another mouthful of tender deer-meat.

          Swallowing my own mouthful, I shrugged, while surprising my irritation at having to cover another fact which we had all discussed together over the last few weeks. “Not very clear, but there are lots of implications that the Folk can get at us through the Dream World. Apparently, the Dreamlands are like the Briar. Theoretically, other dangerous stuff can effect us through dreams, as well, but Keepers were the ones whom I found specific mention to.”

          “Okay,” leaning back, Iron Wade rolled his goblet of wine, slowly between his scar-crossed palms, “you said ‘formal oaths’. Are there specific oaths, like formulas or contracts, that we can look over?”

          My large curls swayed, as I bobbed my head from side to side, while I chewed. “Sort of,” I swallowed, “some types of pledges do get used so much that, over the years, they get streamlined and ‘standard’ versions exist. But, motley pledges are too specific, to each particular group.” I took a drink of spiced cider. “Generally, they’re fairly simple and direct. No actual contract or signing in blood or anything. The formal-ness is a verbal pronouncement and a small release of wyrd. Then, the Gyr binds the pact, rather than filing papers or any legal proceedings.”

          “And what does that all mean for us?” Rocky Gavin was finishing off his third large serving.

          “Well,” I cut up my last few pieces of venison, “from what I read, it’s a lot like what we did with Amy, when she had us claim her as our haven. We agree before hand on what we’re promising to do for each other and what we want to get in return. Then, we all say the same oath, while willing to matter with some wyrd. Then, we’re bound as a motley and each individual start reaping the rewards…” I shrugged one shoulder. “As long as they keep their word.”

          Porcelain-skinned Sol had only eaten one small portion, yet remained at the table sipping wine. “And this is forever?”

          “What happens if you break the oath? Or can’t get to one of the others in need?” Sean asked in almost unison to the slinky darkling.

          Swallowing the last of my meal, I shook my head. “Not forever. It can be, but a year and a day is the most common. That way participants can either re-up or move on, when the times up. In some of the accounts, the motleys also used that annual event as the only time that new members could make their vo. But, the only real necessity seems to be that the whole motley be present for new recruits.”

I ran my hand through my hair, hesitant to offer the next option. “Theoretically, shorter periods can be set, like a season or a moon’s turn. But, usually results in weaker secondary benefits.”

Another drink and I addressed Tallwind. ”Usually, the agreements have a ‘to the best of my ability’ wording. So, if you’re across town, or in Vegas, and you simply cannot reach an ally in need, or if you’re not aware of their need until too late, then it’s not considered a breech of your promise. However, my research was clear that willfully breaking any binding pledge, oath, vow, or promise, will result in a mystic and karmic backlash, hindering the oathbreaker proportional to the violated oath and related benefits.”

“And the benefits again?” Freckle-faced Tegan asked and Iron Wade nodded, as if she had beat him to the punch.

Amy produced a glazed pumpkin bread and started serving slices. I outlined some other what examples of magical-boons that other motleys had invoked, while we ate dessert. It took quite a while, as I was asked to define what I thought improved athletic abilities meant, or politics, or social skills, and so on. Then there was my best guesses of how the Gyr could make a doctor or lawyer serve us. Plus, everyone fielded their own opinions of what they thought sounded appealing. And, of course, their was the constant overlap and repetition with which to deal.

The whole time, Baron Samdi’s incredulity and Nathan Girsu’s encouragement echoed in the back of my mind. As did my concerns about my housemates devil-may-care attitudes towards personal property and how casually and remorselessly they had slain other spirit-touched. So, I made every effort influence my companions into agreeing to make such an oath—including casting Fairest Tongue and Fortune’s Favor on my endeavors.

Whether from my efforts, or their own concerns, everyone present did agree to wanting an oath. Although, they did find a way to stall, by wanting a specific written oath, so that everyone would be sure to say the exact same words. Then, I was charged with drafting the appropriate wording. Initially, I pursed my lips in preparation to take umbrage at being treated like a secretary. Then, I had to grin, as I realized that I would be able to phrase the pledge to my preferences. Regardless of what my forgetful allies imagined would be important.

The motley business settled, for the time being, and dessert polished off, our conversation returned to the All Mostly Mission. Sean Tallwind grudgingly admitted that the k’nid hide gloves were probably good enough. So, we all geared up, for a return to the Goblin Market, to collect the metamorphosed nephew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Containing: goblin goods,

a Frost-y meeting, and

temporary vulpine storage 

Raion-ju had simply shaken his head and wandered out of the living room, when asked if he would be joining our shopping excursion. I suspected that the felinoid lad’s method of tempering his temporary bad luck, was to avoid doing things. Although, it is also possible that Rai just did not care for the Goblin Market.

          While just as dark, whispery, and troublesome as earlier, the Briar hike proved much easier, thanks largely to Tegan Bramblerose leading myself, Sean Tallwind, Iron Wade the Man of Steal, Gavin Granitbane, and Dark Sol. I was not absolutely certain if Sean and I were beset with talisman- misfortune. However, being able to follow the shapely sway of Tegan’s tight-jeans, provided a strong argument against the likelihood. Plus, I remembered to quietly run through my jingles, over and over again. So, perhaps there was still lingering bad-luck, because I was very close to just letting the nigglers eat my thoughts, by the time that we reached Ariadne’s parking lot. I still did not make the time to look up an expanded repertoire, on my iPhone6S, though.

]         Calls to Freerunner went straight to voice-mail and texts were unanswered. Confirming for me that my ill fortune was still in effect. As all six of us squeezed into my Camero GT. Gavin had, of course, called shotgun, as soon as he had stepped out onto the book store’s porch. Which left the lithe ladies to sit in back, effectively in the laps of our gnarling cohorts.

          I toyed with the idea of letting Iron Wade drive, claiming that would make more room in the backseat, overall. No need to mention that I would prefer to have Tegan or the nocturnal Sol, pressed against me, rather than Mr. O’Steal. On the Other hand, letting someone else behind the wheel of my IROC-Z was repellent. Beside with my luck on the down-swing, Wade would probably wreck my care, or I would be mashed into Sean, instead of either lass, or something equally as wrong.

          It was not until I was driving that I thought to wondered why so many of us where going back to the Goblin Market, in the first place. Tallwind certainly had to go, in order to fulfill his bargain with Vladimir. I was obviously needed as driver, plus I had a specific purchase for which I wanted to look. Having only heard about the Market, Dark Sol’s curiosity understandable. Meanwhile, as Briar-guide, Tegan really did not have to go farther than Sheaves & Leaves. Wade and Gavin, on the other hand, could only be playing yet another game of “bodyguard”, exceptionally uselessly in light of the Goblin Market’s advertised rules.

          At the Goblin Market’s entrance a different spirit-touched recited the terms of conduct. Instead of the bardic bat-beastling, there was a thin, sharp-featured, black lady with halogen-bright eyes and a large afro, in which electrical sparks danced. The sparky spirit-touched sang the Market’s theme acapella and her voice buzzed as if amplified and auto-tuned, in spite of not having a microphone. The lyrics remained the same, though.

          Dark Sol and I headed off on our respective ways, while the other four went to deal with Vlademir. Mr. Granitbane grumbled something about safety in numbers, however neither the darkling nor I cared to listen. As far as I was concerned, the deal for fox-Mostly already had too many participants. Plus, as unsettling as the goblins were, it was also all just a fantastical flea-market. Beside the big orange ogre was simply more likely to break the no violence rule, making more trouble than not.

          Since remembering to look up jingles, or to him them regularly, was proving more tedious than I had expected, I wanted to buy one of the other anti-niggler options. Hiring a hunter to follow me around, seemed likely to be prohibitively complicated and expensive. So, I went browsing for feathered head-wear. I even had an idea of what I wanted, in case I needed to commission the item.

If I could not haggle for a decent price, I imagined that I could just make my own feather-hat. However, goblin’s were known for being able to make thornwoven products. A concept which I had compiled during my research, although it was my talk with Nathan Girsu that had given me the terminology of thorn or Briar-woven. Thornweave was especially appealing as it sustained its own Masque, so at least mortals would not notice me as the one guy that always wore feathers on his head. Theoretically, the goblin crafter might imbue greater potency or some other magical effect, as well.

          Fortunately, I had noticed a hatter, on my first visit to the Market. Unfortunately, the goblin merchants had repositioned their pop-up shops, since that visit. So, it took me nearly as much time to find the hat seller, as I had spent meandering, two days earlier.

          When I did relocate it, there was not signage. Instead, the pavilion-style tent-shop had one whole wall open allowing easy display of the headwear available. The three present walls and roof were pure-purple velour. Within, low-walls and tall-pillars of boxes served in place of shelving. The boxes were made of various material, though most appeared to be either plane cardboard or decorated pressed paper. Each lidless container rested on its side, displaying a single extraordinary hat.

          The thin mossy-green proprietor sat on a hip-high backless barstool, watching me inspect each hatbox. Because of the goblin’s glossy red lipstick, on an extremely tiny mouth, and thick-squarish amber earrings, I opted to think of her as a she. Also, partially, because referring to her as “it” or “they” was rude and/or confusing, even in just my head.

          Reaching the end of my browsing options, the sharp-nosed goblin-lady hopped from her perch and approached me. Her two-foot high hat of peacock feathers, which greatly aided her four-foot-nothing stature. Otherwise, the hatress dressed like a circus ringmaster, only with dark-yellow, green, and peach, in respective place of the classic red, black, and white.

          “You are looking for a specific kind of hat.” The goblin stated, as much as asked. “You have a good face for a hat.” Her Midwestern accent came out at a perfectly average volume and pitch, in spite of her teeny mouth. “Many of my wares will suit you.”

          Nodding, I speculated. Of the wares on display, only two bore any feathers, a Robin Hood triangle-style with a single silvery-grey plume and the Easter confection which the owner wore. I was sure to catch the latter on door jams and tree branches, while I doubted the single feather design would serve my needs. Therefore, I asked, “May I, ah, commission a particular hat design?”

          The hat maker’s midnight-purple eyes glittered as she smiled and looked up at me. “That depends, on the request.”

          “Well,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “I’m not much of a crafter, let alone a hatter, so I’m open to suggestions. That said…” I spent several minutes describing the details of my idea and which I feathers that I imagined would serve best.

          At first, the goblin’s wee month was made even smaller as she pursed it skeptically. She relaxed noticeably, as I spoke, and the peacock feathers swayed dramatically with her nods. “This hat will be very good for scaring away nigglers.”

Standing straighter, I swelled with pride. “I was just about to say, that’s precisely what I want it for.”

Then, haggling started. The proprietor opened with, “So, what is this worth to you? Your first love’s embrace?”

While I had come prepared to part with a personal memory or to, I still countered with as low an offer as I deemed would not be insulting. “Instead, I offer an original poem, in exchange for two such completed hats. It could laud your exceptional wares and be displayed, for passers by to see.”

Blue-green eye-plumage rustled to a head shake. “ _One_ poem for _two_ hats , is not close fair.” Resting an elbow in one hand, she tapped her cheek with the index of her other. “Also, you’re not providing any of the materials. Although, the design is intriguing… Four poems and your hair, for two finished hats.” She smiled encouragingly.

Gulping, I nearly falter. Then, the courage of my convictions steadied me and counter offered. Many many minutes and counter proposals later, an accepted compromise was reached. I would provide a hat-shop lauding haiku, there and then. Then, when I collected my new hats, I pay two thoroughly drafted poems—specifically a pastoral summer theme and one about uncontrollable love. However, it would be two-day before either of us could collect, given each of us time to make the goods we were promising.

I returned to the bustling Market lanes, with some trepidation and marking my notepad boldly. As much as I needed the time to reconfigure a bouclé of poems, which I had already started, I also did not like the timing. If I was not ready in two day, then the goblins would pack up for a whole month, which would not do my jingle jangled-mental state any good.

“Did your best, Tommy.” I sighed quietly, to myself. “At least, when you get both hats, there’ll always be a spare, for emergencies.”

Catching-up to my comrades, at Vlademir’s Bestiary, they were just completing the fox-Mostly purchase. It seemed odd that the transaction had taken so long. Upon joining the group, though, I inferred that negotiations had been extended, because Vlad refused to include a cage as part of the original deal. Curvaceous Tegan was valiantly attempting to sweet talk a cage away from the animal handler. My male colleagues merely stood there “guarding”, or grumbling, in Sean case. Personally, I quickly suspected that Vlad had simply targeted Sean as a plump pigeon and was determined to pluck as much as possible.

Not that I had the chance to share my unsolicited opinion, since I barely said “Hi”, before more-exasperated-than-usual Mr. Tallwind started emptying his over-stuffed brown-backpack. The long-fingered gnarling transferred his most precious items (like his hatchet) to his pockets, then doled out the rest of his supplies (twine, measuring tape, small blanket, granola bars, etcetera) to me, Gavin, and Iron Wade. Sean grunted a curt, “carry these for me.”

As paranoia-packs went mine did not registered, compared to Sean’s. The redistribution took quite some time and left all of our pockets bulging. Once Mr. Tallwind’s pack was finally empty, he inserted the fox, zipped the sack shut, and insisted that we leave. Al the while, I could only grin sardonically, certain that a fair portion of the wrinkled grump’s attitude was caused by Tegan’s once again making headway, in negotiating with Vladimir.

          Rolling her verdant crystalline-eyes, Miss Bramblerose threw up her elegant hands and followed after the hobble-stomping leather-worker. The rest of us shrugged and fell in step, as well.

          Our quintet encountered Dark Sol, a short while later, as she was stepping out of a burgundy and black checked tent. Blinking, I glanced around and saw that my compatriots, who all had similar looks of unexpected recognition. We were so used to not knowing the slinky darkling whereabouts that it had been easy to forget that she had come with us. I could not even blame nigglers for the wholly understandable laps..

          “Hey Sol,” Tegan recovered quickest, “we got Mo…” emerald-eyes darted to all of the other passers-by. “um, what we came for. So, we’re heading to the car.”

“Oh, that’s super.” Bubbled Sol, in her full-nocturnal extraversion. “I’ll catch up, back at the oak, or whatever.” Effectively-eyeless solid-black eyes, somehow, made her every smile seem insincere.

“Really?” Tegan’s clear voice drooped with disappointment. “Are you sure…”

“Ooh, did you know,” Sol interjected breathy with excitement, clearly paying more attention to the Goblin Market and patrons, than to Tegan or the rest of us. “that there’s this whole big tent here. And it’s _full_ of just all-kinds of blood!” A pearly white hand fluttered at the shadowy shop behind her.

Whatever Sol was that giddy about was likely to be disturbing. However, I wanted to distract myself from what the vitaliyleech’s breathiness did to her halter top. Looking closer at the pavilion, I confirmed that it was the one which I had seen last time—full of tanks and a low _thrum-thrum_ noise. As if that was not bone chilling enough, the darkling had more “good” news.

“Ooh,” Sol’s black-on-black-on-black eyes widened, “and I met this really neat wandering goblin-lady, with a tray full of jars, with dozens of different kinds of eyes. I’ll have to gather some things and come back, to trade.” Misinterpreting the rest our horrified-incomprehension as confused-interest, the satiny-haired platinum-blond explained further. “There’s a glamour that I can trick into working wyrd-free, if I eat an eye. But, the kind of eye doesn’t matter. So, I’ve been looking for eyes that travel well and will be easy to just swallow.” Her chalk white smile was exceptionally satisfied.

I glanced at Iron Wade, to see if he was more disturbed than the rest of us, as he had been targeted by that glamour—albeit when cast by the treacherous-graceful Doctor Barber. The weathered gremlin looked only as dumbstruck as my other fellows, so he must have forgotten that the faery magic in question had nearly struck him blind. Swallowing hard with the realization hat Dark Sol knew such secrets, I drew out my notepad and double-underlined “Compose Motley oath”. The sooner I got a promise not to harm me, the better.

Meanwhile, Miss Bramblerose was again the first of us to recover her voice, “Um, okay. Well, call us if you need a ride or something.”

Each of my comrades were as eager, as myself, to depart the morbidly perky Sol’s company, even if they were not as aware of the detailed reasons why. As the lithe lass had slinked off into the throng, it occurred to me that our reactions may have been somewhat orchestrated. Tegan had been about to make an impassioned plea for Dark Sol to come with us. Instead of outright refusing the influential bloomwell, Sol insidiously used our squeamishness to get us to leave her alone. Thus, sidestepping Tegan’s compulsive desire.

“Well,” I tried to think of something positive, in the wake of Sol’s unpleasant imagery, as the five of us continued out of the Market, “At least, there’ll be more room in my car, for the ride back.”

          In the Asylum’s parking lot, Freerunner and his green-checkered taxi were waiting, next to my orange Camero. After quick hellos, Gavin ask if the svelt cabbie was alright.

          “Runner sighed, “Rrr, technically. Ugh crappy day, irrr though.” He shook his be-whiskered face. “A rrr bunch of rrurr cheapskate and mph problematic farereres. Then, urr a flat. Rrr And five irmph minutes aftererer changing the tirerere, got anothererer flat.” Another beleaguered sighed. “Plus, urr my phone rrran out of rrerr powerer.”

          Explaining why none of the rest of us had been able to get through to the gargle-mouthed lad. I chose not to interrupt ‘Runner, just to point out that his bad day must have been crow-foot related.

          “Rrr been circlin’ urrm past hererere, Ariadne’s, ghrph the Black Forest, and ourrrrental place.” One hairy, slightly-webbed hand traced a circuit in the air.

          Sean and Tegan filled ‘Runner in on the successful purchase of fox-Mostly. Sparking a memory in the cabbie’s wide-spaced beady-eyes, “The urm ferrets, I rrr had trackin’ rmph the waitress rrerr, followed herrrr to herrrgh apartment, forrr the past irrr few days. They rrrreported back that urrgh she lives alone urm and cries rrr herself to sleep.”

“So, she’s still sad over Mostly’s disappearance.” Tegan speculated, rubbing her cream-colored hands together for warmth.

“Or, she’s feelin’ guilty for transformin’ ‘im, or leadin’ ‘im into a trap.” Grumped Tallwind, while his backpack squirmed slightly.

“Well,” Iron Wade mirrored Tegan’s actions with his own large scarred-mitts, “then she’ll either be happy that we found him, or need to flee, once Jesse Frost transforms him back.”

          “Yeah,” I leaned back, against my driver’s door, “we don’t need to worry her. Unless she, or whoever did this to Mostly, suspects that we have him before we can turn him over to Ms. Frost.”

There followed one of our round-a-bout discussions, whether to attempt to restore All Mostly to people shaped, or just let aunt/uncle Frost take care of it. The former quickly seemed like more effort than our group was willing to muster. However, we were still left with when to contact Jesse Frost. Sooner would mean less hassle for us, so that is obviously what the majority chose. Plus, I sensed that my flighty allies were reaching the limit of how much they could continue to care about this task, regardless of their promised obligation.

Tegan Bramblerose appeared to share my assessment, as she summed up, “We were hired to find the kid. Nothing was said about in what shape. So, we’ll just turn over what we got, tonight, and be done with it.”

“Plus,” Sean Tallwind had to get one more point in, as he shifted the wriggling pack from one shoulder to the other, “the longer we have the kid, the more likely we’re gonna ambushed for ‘im.”

While agreeing with Sean, I still would have proffered a good night’s rest, in order to meet with the powerful regent, refreshed and well groomed. Yet, with the numbers against me, I merely pulled out my iPhone6S and called the phlegmatic Jesse. Ms. Frost answered on the third ring and I said, “Hello, your majesty. We believe that we have the package that you requested. Shall we meet at the same place as before?”

“You _believe_?” King/Queen Jesse’s tone, demanded more information.

“Well…” I rubbed the back of my neck, seeking any politic way to say what I meant, without explicit details over the phone. “The condition is slightly worn, but well and intact. However, it’s not precisely, um… the style that we expected.” I took a quick breath. “Regardless, we’re confident that this is what you asked for.”

The pause that followed contained audible tension. The Jesse said, “One hour. Same location.” and hung up.

While Ms. Frost’s attitude reinforced my position that we should have waited, I simply confirmed the appointment with my crew. My day had once more been too ling, in addition to all of the problems. So, I tried to count what meager blessing that I had, as we drove to Sheaves & Leaves. Foremost, I should not have to talk directly to Jesse Frost any more. Plus, even the boulder-mass of Gavin had plunked into my passenger seat, my Chevy’s suspension was given some relief, as everyone else had piled into ‘Rubber’s taxi.

          Tokka was not needed to lead the six of us back up to the green and brown meeting lounge. King/Queen Jesse and entourage had already arrived and established the same darkened setting as before, sans tea service. The phlegmatic guards and whatnot remained shrouded, as before. Glittery alabaster-skinned Jesse was in precisely the same rigid position, though she wore a low-cut, glam-rock inspired, cloud-grey dress with sharp-looking icicle-shaped jewelry of silver and crystal.

The wintery regent’s ice-blue eyes chilled my blood, even more than usual, when she saw us walk in without Mostly. Which is when I found myself wondering why none of my party had thought to collect Raion-ju for our exchange. Even though the large felinoid barely ever spoke, Ms. Frost had clearly favored his presence at our first meeting. Then, I answered my quandary with a memory of the claw talisman and how its bad luck was still affecting me, Sean, and ‘Runner.

With half of our team laboring under misfortune, with Iron Wade and Gavin in the other half, I did not like our odds. Especially when Mr. Tallwind felt it necessary to join Tegan in approaching Jesse Frost.

“You said you had my nephew. Where is he?” Ms. Frost’s words were as stiff as her posture. ”If this is some attempt to renegotiate…”

“No, no, no.” Waving her hands defensively, Tegan stepped forward. “We have him and want to drop him off. We’re not looking for anything more.”

“Then where is he?” the regent’s crisp tone was like a pond icing over.

“Right here.” Indignant Sean held forward the fox, by its scruff.

I had not seen the long-fingered gnarling extract fox-Mostly, however I did catch the glint of fury which flashed in Jesse Frost’s ice-crystal eyes. Groaning inwardly, I glance to my allies, assessing their readiness to weather or respond to an outburst from the court official. All of my male companions looked as clueless as ever. Thankfully, though, savvy Tegan clearly had experience with reading the subtle moods of an authority figure.

Miss Bramblerose patiently waved her still raised hands. “Honest, Ms. Frost, this is not meant as a joke. At least, not by us. And we haven’t told anyone else.” Gesturing to the bedraggled fox. “That’s Mostly. We don’t know who changed him or how. But, we made several magical confirmations which all agree. It _is_ your nephew.”

“And I am supposed to take your word for that?” The lake iced over a bit more.

Nudging ‘Runner, Iron Wade decided to chime in, “Here, we can show you.” He nodded our otter-beastling towards the fox. “Ask him what happened.”

Freerunner understood and had Tallwind place fox-Mostly on the floor. The rest of us went on high alert, to catch the woodland creature, if it bolted. ‘Runner then invoked his Doctor Doolittle glamour. Yipping back and forth, ‘Runner and the fox held a brief conversation.

Rising from hands and knees, hirsute ‘Runner addressed Jesse Frost. “I rrer asked how he urr got like this. He rrererememberrrs following a tall urmph lady, rrirr in a rrred dress and rrgh falling leaves.”

Iron Wade snapped his scarred fingers, “That had to be Red Rhea.”

Jesse’s expression remained fixed. “Convenient that Lady Rhea is no longer anywhere within the Midwest Territory. Also, I do not see how that performance was meant to prove anything, to me.”

“Well,” Sean sneered, “shouldn’t you have access to enough power, or powerful people? I’m sure Freerunner’s not the only spirit-touched that knows the talk-to-animals trick.”

Ms. Frost’s pale-blue eyes narrowed.

“We are certain,” Tegan tried again to defuse the situation which Sean seemed hell-bent on igniting, “that this is your nephew.” In a ‘parade rest’ stance, only with hands clasped before her, Tegan’s tone suggested that her reasoning was irrefutable. “We agreed to find him, not even to return him. And yet, here he is. It is not our fault that Mostly does not look the way you expected.”

Jesse Frost’s face relaxed a little, as she pondered a response. After almost a full minute, the monarch said, “Our arrangement was for you to find proof of Mostly’s whereabouts—as he had been described.” The heel of one snowy hand lifted towards the bedraggled fox. “Your certainty of that creature being my nephew, may merely be a glamour which you are all under.” The hand returned to Jesse’s lap, as she shook her ebon-locked head. “Your conviction not proof. Further, if I were to discharge our contract and, by accepting the fox, I would be left without both my nephew and any recourse, should you have been duped.”

A stillness settle on Ms. Bramblerose, it was the minute tensing of every muscle which presaged her own growing anger. So, I threw wyrd into my Fairest Tongue, stepped deferentially forward, and attempted to forestall any more escalation. “With respect your Majesty, we made no secret that the practical limits of our fresh-from-the-Briar skill sets would be to find your nephew.” I unclasped my hands, just long enough to show one tanned palm. “I appreciate that you hold us responsible for reversing the transformation, in order to prove that we are right. Yet, if we had any idea of how to achieve such a thing, then we certainly would have done so. It would have made us look more impressive and this conversation much easier.” Even with my glamorous assistance, I worried that my frustration was interfering with my politeness. “Can you, at least, suggest how such a enchantment can be broken?”

          With a somewhat disgusted sweeping gesture, of one elegant arm, Jesse suggested, “You _might_ try the books, so readily to hand.”

          “Which we will certainly try.” Tegan’s composure had returned and she resumed her diplomatic duties. “But, that will probably take days or weeks, if we’re lucky. There is some concern that the longer Mostly remains like this,” a nod to the fox, once more in Tallwind’s dowel-rod grasp, “the less likely anything will be able to fix him.”

          A solid tactical point, which Gavin and I would later learn had been made by Freerunner to the bloomwell, on their cab-ride over. I did my best to ignore the little pouting-voice, in the back of my head, as it reproached my having forgotten how arcanely knowledgeable ‘Runner was.

          Meanwhile, Ms. Frost’s thin lavender-tinted lips pursed into a slight thoughtful sneer, before she replied less sarcastically, “There was rumored to be a lake-hag, not far from where Red Rhea had stowed the child sacrifice…” Tapping her tapered-chin with a single pristine icicle-like fingernail. “Anise, was it?... No, Alison! She was called Alison Grove. She may still be there and may know what to do.”

Sean was stuffing fox-Mostly back into his pack and my whole party recognized that our audience was over. Me. Frost watched imperiously, as we filed out with nods and murmurs of “We’ll do our best.”

Tegan Bramblerose, in her calf-high Towa’s, tight jeans, and fancy leather jacket, led our troupe through another nocturnal Briar-hike. I, as usual, provided the monochromatic faery-illumination, though I mentally kicking myself for still having not looked up addition jingles. My Summer’s Embrace kept me comfortable, while my cohorts shivered in their heavy coats and blew visible puffs of breath. The shifty forest was dark as ever and creaky and skittery and smelled of campfire and roast turkey. Other than, me, Sean, and ‘Runner stumbling more than usual, over roots and rocks, our journey was thankfully uneventful.

As our sextet single-file coiled up the outer stairs, the head and shoulders of Amaryllis phased from the trunk, to greet us.

“Hi, Amy,” I heard Iron Wade’s raspy voice from a little ahead of me, “is Rai here?”

“Yes,” Amy’s rich resonance replied, “he only just fell asleep about an hour ago.”

“Best let him sleep, for now, then.” Tegan spoke, while we all entered and took positions in our common room, “So, where are we going to keep fox-Mostly? He can’t stay in that pack for days, that’s worse than the cage he was in.”

The ensuing conversational carnival-ride went around, for too long, in my opinion. Iron Wade kept going off about making a cage, if only he had suitable materials. Contrarily, Sean insisted that the fox would easily chew through our only source of materials (fallen branches from the Wilder Wood). Tegan and ‘Runner kept focusing on that whatever enclosure was chosen, it would have to be large enough. Throughout, Mr. Tallwind grumbled that he did not care, as long as he got use of his backpack back soon. Yet, the wrinkle-crusted gnarling would shut down anyone else's suggestions, for reasons like “not secure enough” or “Mostly might still have enough smarts to open a latch”, or the like. Weaving in and out of the discussion, various people would express worry that fox-Mostly was only getting more and more agitated, the longer he was zipped into Sean’s pack, which might also be exacerbating his loss of self.

          It retrospect, it had to have been a combination of black-foot bad-luck, group fatigue, and nigglers which kept any of us from the simplest solution. Amaryllis could easily have grown a suitable pen, from the living-oak, or just have drained our enormous whirlpool tub and grown a thick latticework over the top.

          Instead, leaning back in my chair and watching the gently rustling backpack on our coffee-table, I proposed, “Well, we clearly can’t give him free run of the haven, but we could keep him secured in one of our rooms. It’ll be way bigger than the backpack, or the cage that we found him in.”

          There were general nods and noises of agreement.

Tegan’s sharp-green eyes a little worried, “Who’s room?”

          I shrugged one shoulder, “Sol’s, right? She barely uses it, anyway.”

          “It’s ‘bout the only choice.” Sean’s nod made his saggy face sway. “No windows. Foxes’re clever enough on their own.” Extending an elongated index-finger to his bag, almost touching it without actually reaching out, “Same latch issue as earlier, if this one retains enough human thoughts, he might be able to wedge open a window.”

          While the “Amy grown cage” would not connect until much later, I did wonder if she could just seal the windows. On the other hand, I just wanted the topic to resolve. Plus, I thought it might be amusing for Sol to come home to a room with piles of fox crap inside.

          There were no further arguments, so the six of us trouped down into the sub-basement/roots. Ostensibly, we all went to make certain that fox-Mostly acclimated alright. In truth, I was more interested to see how the creepy darkling lass lived. I would have bet that the others crammed into that little hallway and stairwell for the same reason.

As we approached Dark Sol’s door, Amy emerged from the wall, next to it. The dryad’s wild autumnal-hued curls hung loose to her thighs, otherwise she was in her Roman-esque bark-armor and looking quite stern. Amy held up a steady wood-grained palm, “You all can just turn around.” Her normally supportive-cheerleader tones replaced with a head-cheerleader-dictating-the-rules-to-her-squad quality. “This is not any of yours room and Sol has not said that she wanted any of you in there.”

Three of my allies spoke together. “But this is important.” Tegan had a hint of pleading. “She won’t mind.” Iron Wade the Man of Steal was dismissive. “So?” Sean was indignant.

Warrior Amaryllis shook her head, the fiery cascade of hair rustling like branches in a strong wind. Then, the sturdy shouldered lass crossed her arms in front of her rigid breast-plate, causing wood-grained ample cleavage to swell and flex distractingly. “So, it’s alright for me to just let all of you into each other’s rooms, whenever anyone would like?”

“No, not normally.” My practice at talking to Amy, over the preceding weeks, had prepared me to compensate for both her alluring curves and her dryad-y moral stances. “However, dealing with fox-Mostly is a group effort, which Sol said that she was interested in, before we left for the Goblin Market earlier.” I paused, verifying that Amy remembered Sol’s participation. “Well, this is part of that. So, if she’s upset, we promise not to let her blame you. Plus, you’ll be able to watch and make sure the fox doesn’t ruin anything.” I thumbed towards Iron Wade and Sean. “Beside, one of these guys can fix any messes or breaks that occur.”

Large glossy-brown eyes glanced sidelong at the closed door. Amy’s strong shoulders relaxed, as she thoughtfully bit her full mapley lower-lip, “Alright,” she agreed tentatively, “but I should warn you that the mess issue will be hard to detect.”

Stepping backwards, Amaryllis melded into the wall, and Sol’s door opened. The pale darkling’s room was disheveled and cluttered. Black, dark blue, and dark purple clothes strewn everywhere, made the furnishings into drifts and mounds of cloth. Only the very center of the room displayed a patch of cleared floor, in which a single person could easily stand. Rather than the solid oak planks present throughout the rest of our tree-house, Dark Sol’s floor appeared to be densely compressed tangled mass of roots, creating a petrified worm-pile effect.

Mr. Tallwind strode-limped to the clear spot and waited. In an effort to avoid stepping on potentially hidden valuables, Tegan, Freerunner, and I shuffled a few inches into the room, and shut the door. Wade and Gavin Granitbane opted not to ad their bulk, to the little chamber, and waited in the cramped hall instead.

The hall had one of Amy’s little ceramic oil-lamp/sconces, with the door shut, only my moonlight radiance filled the bedroom. The dark cloth strewn everywhere, combined with my colorless aura, made the space seem gloomy, even with my light at full power.

Sean Tallwind probably would have preferred to be alone with fox-Mostly. Though, I did wonder what crotchety fellow would have done for light. With his pack empty, Sean might still have matches, but then he’d need to juggle that with the live fox, in a room full of cloth. I doubted, very much, that Amy would have remained copacetic. My mind also idly considered the wisdom of leaving any of my household alone with a commodity as precious as Mostly. Then, there was the part of me that did not care for the idea of Mr. Tallwind specifically scuttling around in our haven’s foundation. Not to mention that it was a ladies private chamber. Even with my general misgivings about Dark Sol, no woman deserves to have a creeper lose in their bedroom.

Grunting noncommittally, Sean sat with his legs crossed beneath him, placed his pack on the floor, and unzipped it. The four of us remained still. After a minute or so, the fox‘s little black-nose poked out and sniffed the air. Then, the animal’s pointy head looked around, quickly. I barely saw the canine leap from the backpack and swiftly burrow into a pile of clothes near Sol’s bed—or the mound of garments which was most bed-shaped.

Sean produced a bowl, which he must have grabbed from upstairs before coming down, along with a bottle of water. The burn-scarred wrinkle-fest set the filled bowl on the clear bit of lightly-textured floor, as close to where Mostly had gone as possible. Then, sourpuss settled himself at the opposite side of the empty space.

“So, uh,” Tegan's sparkling jewel eyes watched Tallwind with concerned confusion, “what’s your plan here, Sean?”

“We gotta get ‘im to trust one of us.” Sean grumbled, without looking at the rest of us. “So, I’ll sit here and let ‘im get used to me, while he drinks.”

Athletic ‘Runner, Tegan, and I exchanged glances, confirming that we all thought that our grim ally’s plan was weak. I shrugged. Freerunner got down on all fours and crawled carefully around Tallwind, towards the bed.

In his tight pale-green (turned grey) polo, skinny jeans, and crawling purposefully on the floor, I could see why someone might want to get to know the muscular hirsute beastling more intimately. Which was odd for me, as I rarely thought of guys like that. I also was uncertain how I felt to see that Tegan was staring with a measure of her own avarice.

Freerunner employed his Doctor Doolittle glamour again and yipped into the piles of clothing. Fox-Mostly’s muffled response came and the two furry-fellows communicated for a few minutes. Eventually, ‘Runner sat up and faced the rest of us, “He mrmf was clearereer this time, rrr less nervous. He rreremembered having been rrerr two-legs mph, but has rrir no memory of urrgh his name.” ‘Broad swimmer’s-shoulders shrugged. “He’s rrrreal scared, though. Rrph And hungry. He rrr might start irm to think even clearererer aftererer some rrrest and food.” He looked pointedly at Sean, when he said the word rest.

“Amy!” I called out, not to loudly, and the dryad’s cheerful round-face appeared in the ceiling. Once I saw were the tree-spirit was, I went on, “Amy, would you please bring in half of the steak that I placed in the chill chest, the other day? Chopped up small for the fox?” Amaryllis nodded and left. I addressed my companions. “Well, I’m not going to stand here ‘til who-knows-when, waiting for Mostly to get his act together. So, unless you want to sit in the dark, you should come with me.””

“Come on, Sean,” Tegan coaxed, “let Mostly get used to the room first, then see if he’ll respond better to people.”

Grudgingly, Tallwind stiffly got up. Then we collected the hall “guards” and all headed back to our living area.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Containing: swearing,

dream stuff, and

“planning”

After Sol’s subterranean lair, I took a moment to more thoroughly appreciate our haven’s living room. A well-lit rectangular room with rounded corners. The “front” door was in the southern short wall… well, I thought of it as south, compass-points in the Briar were more what one made of them, than fixed directions. So, the double-wide archway into the kitchen/dining area was off-center, in the so-called east wall. More centrally on that same wall, the tight-spiral stairs led down into the trunk or up into the branches. “North” sported a sort of backdoor, which technically also led to the various rope paths and bedrooms beyond, but mainly accessed our full-bathroom.

Three tall and narrow windows were spaced evenly along the opposing long wall. Each window was comprised of a grid of square panes—four wide, eight high—and opened along the middle, like French-doors. Walls, floor, and vaulted ceiling were all polished oak. Other than the windows the only wall adornments were a half-dozen ruddy-ceramic oil-lamp sconces with simple globes of bubbled glass.

          The eclectic assortment of chairs and sofas were arrayed in three loose conversational clusters. Although, with very little effort, a few of the chairs could be spun, to create a single large socialization dynamic. A large coffee table dominated the space—Rai could have laid spread-eagle on it and barely reach the edges. Plus, several round end and- pedestal-tables. Like our massive dining table, all the others were horizontal cross sections of trees.

          While I appreciated my surrounding and the others selected seating, , Sean Tallwind’s distorted fingers held open his empty backpack, “Alright, you three,” his saggy chin-skin jutted at me, Gavin Granitbane, and Iron Wade the Man of Steal, “time to return my property.”

All three of us complied, happy to free up our pockets. I even went a step further. Since the disagreeable cuss could not be bothered to ask more politely, I also slipped the nefarious crow’s foot talisman into the pack, as deep as I surreptitiously could.

In addition to taking the reactions of far more experienced Baron Samdi and Nathan Girsu seriously, after the day of crummy luck I had just experienced, I had no interest in ever reactivating the pernicious pendant. Especially, since I was not about to give up my secrets to avoid the misfortune. Nor could I imagine ever having enough wyrd to be able to employ my luck manipulating glamours, as counter agents. Plus, I was convinced that the only way to truly rid myself of the thing was to do as had been done to me. Besides, if anyone I knew deserved some headaches, it was grumpy Sean.

          Even with all of our running around, Tegan teasingly commented that it was still well before midnight, as Raion-ju appeared. The cat-ogre hunch-shuffled in from the back door. While my colorless faery-light blended with the warm flickers of the oil-lamps reflected off the golden wood, to generally compliment everyone’s appearances, it only highlighted the bags under Rai’s glassy slit-eyes and his a sort of all over puffiness.

          “How ya doin’ Rai-man.” Gavin greeted with his typical oblivious cheer.

          “Couldn’t sleep, for some reason.” Slumping into his favorite padded chair, Rai’s deep voice barely even sounded like a growl.

          “Hey…” Tegan’s emerald peepers swept over the rest of us, “I wish Sol was here, too. But, since it’s so rare that this many of us are in one place, we should talk about that motley oath thing.”

          “Yeah.” Wade rasped eagerly.

          Since my collective never moved forward with any project, until it had been talk to death three or four times over, I was not surprised at the desired rehashing. Which did not stop me from wanting to avoid it. I managed to muffle my sigh. Then, I fielded the same questions as before, in the same manner. I was surprised, though, that the topic only went around once and fairly quickly, at that.

          “I just feel,” in her padded chair, Tegan Bramblerose leaned forward, resting green-flannelled elbows on denim-covered knees, “that things in general are getting more tenuous. So, making the pledge sooner will be better than later.”

          I suspected that a combination of Amy’s words about privacy and Sean’s proprietary nature around fox-Mostly had tipped the redhead’s internal scales of urgency. Regardless, with Tegan’s faery aroma backing her words, there was very little chance that the others would not agree. Even so, I still had to spend answer one more round, of variations on the same questions. When I once more confirming that our oath would not be lifelong, yet could be renewed, everyone finally admitted that they simply wanted to make the vow and be settled with it.

          “But we still want the paper version, right?” Iron Wade concluded. “To make sure we all say exactly the same thing?”       

It was not really necessary, but I nodded any to avoid the sticking point. “I haven’t had the time to write one up yet, but I’ve been thinking about the best wording, since our last talk about it.” I grabbed my pack and placed the appropriate tools out onto the coffee table. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll write it up, now.”

It probably took closer to thirty minutes, to get the phrasing right and the penmanship clean. Rubbing the crick un my neck, from hunching over the low table, I heard myself saying, “Here’s what I have…” then read the oath. I bit my tongue for the insolence of inviting more jibber-jabber. However, I was once more surprised to find that none of the household took the opportunity to further delay with another repetitive discussion of nuance.

          I had some concern that the potentially dangerous Dark Sol was not taking the oath. Part of me even hoped that the unpredictable darkling would never return from the Goblin Market. Although, I much preferred the idea that Sol would be sworn to do me no harm, over having her loose in the world somewhere. Ultimately, knowing that we could add her later, stayed my treacherous tongue from suggesting that we wait.

          I was brought back to the conversation, as Freerunner asked, “So, urr this doen’t rrr mention the urgh magical enhancements. Rrarr how’s that work?”

“Well,” I waggled my fingers through my hair, to loosen the locks, “that part’s not as formal. From what I read, we just concentrate on what we want, as we pledge.” I shrugged. “Theoretically, with this many of us promise such important things, we’ll get some significant boosts. As long as we all essentially want the same benefits.”

          “Well,” A scraping sound accompanied Gavin’s chin rubbing, “ya know, it might be nice if we all asked for more first aid training. I mean, I don’t really need it, but if everyone came up to my fireman training standards, that could be really useful.”

          “Yeah,” Tegan’s silky hair swayed with her nod, “I had practically finished my EMT certificate, before getting changed. But, it would be nice, if more than two of us could help anyone else in need.”

          “Well,” I made an off-hand gesture, “I have some first aid stuff too, from my summers working as a life-guard. But, the cool thing is—at least, as far as I understand it---no one gets left out. So, enhancing our medical knowledge could easily mean that anyone without training comes up to my level, I’d get bumped up to Tegan and Gavin’s, and they just get better.”

          Nodding, ex-fencing instructor Wade proposed, ”We should also up all of our proficiencies with melee weapons.”

          “Rrr meaning swords, rrurr of course.” ‘Runner rolled his little eyes.

          “I don’t know…” Thoughtfully running a knuckle back and forth across my tapered chin, I contemplated that neither liking the idea of becoming personally more martial, nor of my bloodthirsty allies growing even deadlier. “I may not always have access to a knife or sword or club or whatever. Even when I do, I can’t honestly say that I’m enthusiastic about using one.” My hand moved to rubbing my neck. “On the other hand, if we just focused on improved physical fitness, then each of us could run faster—to or from danger, your choice—climb better, lift more, swing fists or weapons longer, and so forth.” I hardly used any of my Fairest Tongue glamour.

          Someone liked the idea of securing some sort of outside service. After several rounds of ideas, we narrowed it down. Although, Mr. Tallwind pressed for, “Askin’ for cash, means we can just pay for whatever services want.”

          “Well, sort of.” I sighed. “We can’t be sure that the Gyr will provide enough money all, Or, if It does, whether it’ll come all at once, or trickle in over the next year.” I panned my hand around the room. “Meanwhile, getting a specific professional should mean that we just have access to their services, regardless of pricing.”

          “Yeah, that makes sense.” Tegan nodded. “And since a couple of us have already mentioned specific legal needs, I agree that we should try to get a lawyer out of this deal.”

“Rrr especially,” Freerunner gargle-mumbled, “since, morerere legal issues arerere likely to crop rrirr up in the futurerere.” His tiny dark-eyed darted quickly to and past Gavin, Rai, and Iron Wade—our killiest allies.

“So,” I summed up, “as we make the pledge, we’ll each hope for more physical fitness, more medical knowhow, and access to general purpose legal council.”

          Then, almost before I fully grasp that it was happening, the eight of us stood in a circle, around the coffee table. We passed the document I had drawn-up from person to person, as each read the vow.

         

          “Having lost the connections to my True Bourne Family, I now choose allies of similar loss, to fill those empty places in our lives.

          I vow by my True Name and the faith which I hold most reverent, before those also so sworn and agreeable to my so swearing. I shall not with knowledge nor freewill, commit deed nor word for any Bright One seen or unseen.

          Additionally, I shall act with my fellow oathsworn to enhance all of us. Including, to the best of my abilities, protecting the lives and secrets of all whom share in this pledge, be they waking or in dream.

          Furthermore, any who betray this sworn oath shall suffer for it, in equal measure.

          I may return to my True Bourne Family, however for a year and a day I shall keep this oath with all that share it.”

                   

          All of us included our True Names, after speaking that phrase. Except for Amy, who did not remember any other identifier. Which was why I had included the bit about faith. Thus, making certain everyone had something deeply personal to loose, tied to the promise.

The intangible elasticity of our convictions, grew more firm, with each speaker and additional bit of wyrd expended. Twilight Tommy, Freerunner, Gavin Granitbane, Sean Tallwind, Tegan Bramblerose, Iron Wade the Man of Steel, Raion-ju, and Amaryllis, as each vow was sworn, around the core of our oak-haven, the tightening _thrum-thang_ settled deeper into our beings. This time the sensation put me in mind of a stuntman synching the straps on a harness which will keep him from plunging to his death.

          As Amy made her commitment, citing belief in the forces of creation and nature in lieu of a True Name, I wondered if the new bond would help her remember her mortal self. Since all of the rest of us had our regained our True Names, I thought that there was a chance that some sort of sympathetic resonance may aid the dryad’s memory.

          If nothing else, I believed that including Amaryllis would finally get the others to see her as a person. Since Amy had not been with the rest of us in the ill-fated Kendal clinical drug-trial, my cohorts tended to treat her as they did everyone else, sort of as unreal. In the perky dryad’s case, she was often relegated to more of an appliance than even a person. Beyond thwarting the pointless demeaning treatment, I felt that it was important to have Amy included for protection. As the spirit in charge of our haven, she needed every incentive to not simply choose her own wellbeing over ours, as she had with her last tenant.

         No sooner had Amaryllis spoken the last word, in our circle of pledging, than a breeze impossibly swung open one of the windows. A small rectangle of paper swirled in and alighted dead-center on our coffee table.

          While my motley goggled at the paper, I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that none of them had made any issue of the “protecting secrets” clause. I included the stipulation because my allies had so often simply blurted out whatever they felt like, without regard for the consequences. Like the time that Iron Wade had nearly ruined a bargain that I was making with Lor of Hawk Wood, while also nearly announcing to most of the Salamander Court that our home held a magic portal to Las Vegas, for any who would care to pester us about such access. I hoped that the magic of our oath would help to get them all to pay more attention to whom they spoke and what they said.

          Meanwhile, Gavin picked up the mysterious white rectangle, in his enormous brick-red hand, “It’s a business card.” He waved the object for display, then read aloud. “Wilson Graves, Attorney at Law.”

As I jotted down the contact information from the card, into my notepad, Tegan went down and out of our portal to do the same into her iPhons6S. When the voluptuous bloomwell returned, she comment, “I’m not sure it matters, but I think it’s kinda nice that we did the ritual right around midnight.”

“How can you tell?” Gavin said, while yawning into his hand.

“Just check my phone.” Tegan mirrored the yawn.

As pleased as we all were, each of us also shared the sleepiness of our respectively earthen and flowery comrades. So, with mumbled, “good nights” we each toddled off to our respective rooms.

         

Motes of reflected light danced and spun across the vast dark polished-ceiling. Twilight Tommy longed to streak upward and away, into the night sky, of which the image above was but a parody. Instead, the ankle tether tugged Twilight Tommy to his “task”, as another of the Masters boys float-bumped it dazedly. Each of the boys leashes kept them drifting in orbit around a central silver-ball. While the soft glow of the boys bounced from the silver-sphere to the reflect back as tiny specks from the far distant ceiling, it also cast illumination upon the revelries below.

          The Revelers danced and laughed and did the cruel uncaring things that Revelers did.

                    One guest, His flowing hair streaked with all hues-luminous, reached up, plucking a tether—Twilight Tommy’s leash. The too-pretty guest, His suit woven of impossibility, exited the revelry hall, into the sultry night. Twilight Tommy tried not to draw attention—trying to fly without pulling at the lead, trying to not look directly at the leader-guest… trying so-very-hard to not yearn for the prismatically-coiffured guest to forget about holding the cord and let Twilight Tommy drift loose.

          The garden’s air clung, thicker than inside the hall. The terribly-beautiful guest used His free hand to reach into His Impossibly woven garment, drawing forth cigarette and match. Forcing the match to flame with an elegant-careless thumbnail, the guest lit His cigarette. The pearlescent smoked crawled lazily up, and enveloped Twilight Tommy…

                    Blinking away the acrid cloud, Twilight Tommy saw that he was once more inside. Though, inside was a dingy apartment. Once sleek-nice furniture was marred with cigarette burns and alcohol stains. The electronics were still sleek and far to expensive to be associated with the furniture, even before the marring. Decoration amounted to a Lamborghini poster, over the dining table, its naked blond “hood ornament” sporting freshly-Sharpie-inked-on fairy wings. Marred furniture and grimy floor were covered with listless people in various states of lucidity and undress.

          Hovering near the ceiling, Twilight Tommy could not rend crystalline-eyes from the overlapping sprawl of addicts and alcoholics below. Especially, the shiftless, strung-out, tattooed creature which wore a Tommy-face and stood imperiously amidst the debauchery.

The imposter was pleased with what he saw, all he had and all he could take at will. The imposter selected a too-young, too-high, too under-dressed girl and led her to his bedroom. The imposter looked back over his shoulder and winked at Twilight Tommy.

 

Awaking furious and terrified. My own pale-monochrome faery-light felt far too bleak, so I got out of bed and lit the oil lamps. I smiled while opening my picture window, Amaryllis had formed it to swing up and out, like an awning. Then I simply stood and breathed in the soothing scents of oak and loam, as the bracing autumn air poured in.

          The longer I went between such nightmarish dream-travels, the more nerve-wracking they were, upon waking. Especially, when a new crease was added to the pattern of such journeys. In spite of the revelries, the unforgettably vivid scenes did not feel like dreamemberings. Instead, I had the uneasy sense of present or foreboding. Largely brought on by the rainbow-haired guest.

          I considered that the impossibly-dressed impeccable guest may have been my own subconscious reinterpreting Nathan Girsu. My readings within Ariadne’s rare books had indicated that such was the hardest part of wandering the Dreamlands, anything perceived could as easily been internally generated as externally. Even so, I ran my hands through my hair, the rest of the my “dream” impressions and imagery did not feel like Mr. Girsu. After all, the dreamembery part of it had confirmed that I had not been the Master of Boys only star-in-training.

I shut my window with a sneer. Resenting that I had not been uniquely special. Hating myself for caring, I dressed for maximum preparedness—reassuringly sturdy Doc Martens, Levi’s, an orange and red flannel button-down, and my paranoia-pack. Dreading that I felt any yearning towards the Lands Beyond, I doused the lights and headed to the communal spaces of my tree-house.

          If I had a creepy Dreamland jaunt, featuring my captivity and my shadow-eater replacement, then the rest of my newly-formed motley probably had similarly disturbed sleep. At least that had been true for each dreamembering thus far. The majority of our tree-household also liked to yammer about their nocturnal trauma-reenactments. So, at least, the unrelenting-unreal horrors of others could be entertainingly enough to help suppress my own dreamemberings.

And I was not disappointed, I was neither the first or last of the motley to trickle into the living room. Each of my tenuous-friends exhibited traits along spectrums of unsettled and upset, similar to me. The common grumbled theme was comments of dream-visions strongly featuring their respective shadow-eater doppelgangers.

Beating me out for indignant fury, and by a clear margin, was Tegan Bramblerose. The athletic lass entered through the front door, in Ugg boots, large yellow T-shirt/sleep-shirt, and forest-green work-out leggings, her ample-breasts heaving, freckled cheeks rosy-flushed, and gem-eyes sparking with green-lightning.

“I was running around the clearing, to blowing off steam.” Tegan almost snapped, in response to our quizzical looks at her entry point.

“And turning fallen branches to mulch,” Amaryllis murmured, “with that martial-arts stuff.”

Tegan went on, not noticing Amy’s comment, “That horrible monster, with my face, tried to burn down my parents’ house! They stopped the bitch! But, she wound up cutting my mom with a kitchen knife.”

I wanted to hold Tegan, although not so much to provide comfort, as would have been appropriate, instead I made myself look away from the seething elfin lass. The bloomwell’s model-perfect appearance—disheveled dark-red hair, chill and rage tinted heart-shaped face—was arousing enough. Adding that buxom Tegan had neglected to wear a bra—a fact made extremely evident thanks to the cold from outside or her anger-increased blood flow—was more than my restrictive jeans could accommodate, if I kept staring. Plus, my reaction reminded me of Fetch-Tom’s dream-lasciviousness, making me ashamed and mad all over again.

Luckily, Gavin Granitbane attempted to grab focus by playing the at-least-you-have-someone card. The rocky bodybuilder only wore a pair of jeans and stood near the spiral-stairs, “I was frozen outside my sister’s place, while they had Christmas inside.” Cinderblock fists flexed. “All I could do was watch them havin’ fun, from the cold. I couldn’t move or make a noise or nothin’.”

I privately judged Gavin’s irritation as significantly less than either my or Tegan’s outrage. Although, the academic part of me was intrigued that even with Mr. Granitbane’s shadow-eater long destroyed, he was still burdened with a vaguely similar nightmare.

The center of attention did not linger long on Gavin, as almost everyone wanted their say. Raion-ju, of course, failed to share and Amaryllis reported no recollection of a dream. All the rest, however, recounted dreams of their doppelgangers generally messing with their friends or family.

The farthest end of the misery spectrum was Iron Wade the Man of Steal, who gave an inured shrug. “Mostly, it was more of the same for me. Bolted to a conveyor belt, in The Manufactory.” One scarred hand dismissively waved. “My bitch ex-wife _was_ their with Fetch-Ken, but they deserve each other.”

I could only imagine that being treated as a power-tool had stripped away the gremlin’s emotions and empathy. Or, possibly, Wade’s sociopathic tendencies had been why his Keeper made him a machine. Either way, Iron Wade’s nonplused attitude chilled my blood. I allowed myself another moment of internal gratitude, for having secured a promise of my safety from the grim gnarling.

After everyone had vented, once through, I trued to curtail the conversational carnival ride, by clarifying, “I just got the feeling, that Fetch-Tom saw me. I mean really, actually _saw_ me.” My slender finger-tips tapped my chest.

Once more alabaster cheeked, Tegan sat with near-Zen rigidity, until her glossy-auburn ponytail bobbed to a curt nod, “Absolutely, like for me it wasn’t Fetch-Gerri, but I’m sure that I sensed someone else in my dream… Like they were as real as me. Only, just sort of watching.”

“You see?!” Pointing at Tegan I panned the room, meeting everyone’s gaze. “ _That’s_ why I added the “in dream” bit, to our motley oath. We need to get rid of these doubles, before they get into our heads.”

“But,” Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, like a mortar against pestle, “you said your fetch would get more powerful, if you get too close.”

“So,” Miss Bramblerose was quick with the rebuttal, “we can swap and gang up. If you all take care of Fetch-Gerri,” her hands moved in overlapping crisscross patterns, like a shell-game barker, “then I’ll help with Fetch-Tom, while Tommy sits out, and so on.”

Since, I liked Tegan’s proactive stance, I did not muddy the issue. My research had suggested that in-dream was much the same as in-person for shadow-eaters. Besides, a more dominant part of my mind was toying with the idea that Tegan was a little too ready with the swap plan, for it to have been spontaneous. I nodded with approval, assuming the plan was the primary motivator for the elfin lass to push us into a binding motley pledge of support.

Whether due to my nodding, or Tegan’s bloomwell aura, or simply their murderous natures, each gang member readily agreed to share shadow-eater targets. Which, of course, caused me to fret that the magical binding of our motley vow would start making me as brutal as the rest of my comrades. However, that did not last long, as my relatively inert friends unthinkingly re-shelved the idea of fetch-slaughter in favor of the fox-Mostly topic. In turn, leaving me concerned that I would become even more mentally disconnected and unmotivated, thanks to our mystical ties.

Sean Tallwind grumbled, “Best bet’s the Goblin Market. Bond to find a cure for the Mostly-critter there.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nodded Tegan thoughtfully. “And I might be able to learn something more about the Dream World and how to use it to our advantage.”

I was skeptical of the Goblin Market’s actual efficacy, considering the limited successes our group had experienced thus far. Mainly because big fixes seemed to be outside of our price ranges. I kept my doubts to myself, though, since I needed to return and collect my hats from the Market, anyway. Theoretically, having my motley to hand should be better, in any circumstance.

My more suspicious side also wondered if the Goblin Market was magically-addictive. Since my colleagues had consistently shown mistrust and dislike of the more fairytale aspects of our new existences. Especially, the aesthetically unpleasing bits, such as goblins. Yet, all of us seemed to find or make opportunities to return to the Market. On the other hand, the Goblin Market did promise easy solutions and my motley-mates also consistently followed the path of least possible effort.

“Rrr dawn soon.” Hirsute ‘Runner blinked at the window. “urrmph Market’ll be rrirr closed beforerere we can rgh get thererere.”

“I guess we go tonight then.” Shrugged Tegan, once more unintentionally drawing attention to her bra-less-ness.

Groping for anything else to think about, I latched onto my doubts regarding the Market, “We should still pursue other options… Just in case the goblin’s can’t or won’t help.”

“Like what?” Sean asked as if he could not possibly imagine any other course of action and trying to think of any would be a foolish and futile waste of effort.

“ _Well_ ,” I drew out the word, endeavoring to control my desire to punch-in the wrinkly contrarian’s face, “Jesse Frost mentioned a lake-hag… Alison Grove. We could try and find more information on her. Or, there’s always the books at Ariadne’s, we seem to find all kinds of useful information there.” Flipping my golden-brown hand dismissively. “Personally, I was going to try and talk to Tom of the Holler. As Ms. Frost’s opposite number at Hawk Wood, he’s probably powerful and connected. Maybe he can suggest a fix.”

“But, Frost doesn’t want us telling anyone about Mostly.” Rasped Iron Wade, half throwing up one scar-covered hand, in frustration.

“So,” my look conveyed that I thought both gnarlings had brain damage, “then I’ll just ask if he knows how to break transformation enchantments and _not_ go into any details.” Turning a much more neutral gaze to petite Tegan, “Maybe, you could try talking to Baron Samdi? You two looked pretty cozy before the Child’s Rite _and_ he did come nosing around for you, a couple of days ago.”

Tegan had slumped back in her chair, since the “attack shadow-eaters” plans had stalled out. Arms crossed and staring out of a window, the bloomwell pouted, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

I sighed with familiar frustrated disappointment. Becoming oath-bound had done nothing to overcome my so-called friends’ inability to talk to other spirit-touched. Or, imagine that planning beyond a single idea, for that matter. “Well,” I raised my hands in a parody of surrender, “I’m going to make an effort, anyway.” Looking to our motley’s two Briar-guides. ‘Is there any chance that either of you’d be willing to get me to the Barrow Mound, at least? To save me some time.”

If Raion-ju heard me, I could not tell. However, Miss Bramblerose sat up blinking, “Oh, uh, yeah…” Her dopiness was cast aside. “Yeah, I’ll walk you there. Then, I’ll head to the Freehold and try some research.”

The last sentence was said, as if I had not just made the rare books suggestion. Even so, I felt some reassurance that at least one of my gang had stepped up to act rather than wait around all day. Excepting Amy, of course, as she was unable to leave the oak, even if she wanted to.

The group took Tegan’s departure as a cue to head off to their various personal interests—probably flipping back to sleep. Since I was already set, I ate a bowl of Amaryllis-made granola, while athletic Tegan cleaned up and dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	10. Chapter 10

10

Containing: anti-transformation investigations,

initiating legalities, and

another communal meal

Mine and Tegan’s hike through the Wilder Woods was uneventful, as far as I could tell. For all I knew of the Briar’s mysteries invisible threats could have been looming all around, or soundless predators may have been dogging our every step. Which could have explained Ms. Bramblerose’s hurried pace. Of course, Tegan could still have been blowing off steam from earlier, as well. I chose to believe that my limited selection of hummed commercial theme ditties, only played a small part in my guide’s quickened pace.

Admittedly, I wanted some reprieve from my own jingle selections, as well. Unfortunately, the _rustle-crunch-rustle_ of dry leaves, below our boot-heels, was easily as tedious and failed to ward of thought eating sky-fish. Plus, I lamented not moving slow enough to allow me the luxury of making a physical note to look up more tune options. So, I kept up with Tegan and once more hoped to recall my mental note, at an opportune moment.

The most nominally interesting thing which occurred was that, closer to the Salamander Barrow Mound, the odors of old pumpkins and damp hay gave way to moldering leaves and burnt marshmallow. At least, by then, Tegan was in a better mood than our post dreamembering gathering. I chose to believe that the athletic lass merely derived pleasure from the outdoor activity of hiking, rather than leaving my company… or my condition. I raised my own mood, as best I could, by watching Tegan’s skin-tight jeans jog off down the Ways, to Ariadne’s Freehold, while I was bent over—hands on knees—catching my breath.

After a few moments, I turned and was relieved to see that the thick matt-grey stone double-doors, of the Salamander Court, stood open in the titular mounds mouth. The rectangular slabs lay flat, against the earthworks amphibian’s cheeks. There were three or four spirit-touched loitering nearby, as well. However, had the doors been sealed, I doubted any guard-courtiers would be outside to ask for assistance and I had no idea how to gain the attention of those within, when the mouth was closed.

In spite of the Mounds community purpose, I almost felt as if I was trespassing or imposing. The interior’s resemblance to an intimidating late-medieval-style cathedral, may have been a factor. Whatever the case, I felt like I was passing through the halls of a police precinct or hall of records. Technically a public space, yet rarely entered by anyone without a very specific purpose for being there. luckily, I did not need to wander far.

In the central nave/banquette hall, I barely had to pause, before hearing Tom of the Holler’s distinctive boisterous guffaws. Though it did take another moment or two to zero-in on the summery regent. Dozens of small courtier clusters communed throughout the expansive nave and adjoining arcades, on and around the various heavy long-tables and bench/pews. Eventually, I located Tom of the Holler, seated before one of the two exceptionally anachronistic massive fireplaces.

The mountainous Mr. O’Holler sat on one of the stone benches with a pillar to his back. The fireplace was mostly to Tom’s right, on the left two spirit-touched conversed with him. The pair, a male and a female, shared a single long chunky-wooden bench.

At first, the masculine figure appeared to be medium height, blocky-built (like Gavin or Tom of the Holler), charcoal black, and naked. upon closer inspection, I realized that the rough-hewn lad was actually made of living charcoal, with his wrinkles and crevasses glowing a dark-crimson intensity. I also saw that the fellow did wear a thick-leather loincloth. The lass was also relatively masculine, though cute as well. She had to have been a wolverine-beastling in light of her squat-stocky frame, beady animal-eyes, and bristly black, white, and grey streaked hair.

On my way over to the trio, I collected a crystal-pitcher of dark-brown and foamy stout, from one the half-dozen laden sideboards. I also circled around the pillar, to avoid cutting through the group’s conversation. Although, I was conspicuous, so as not to appear as if I were sneaking up on the choleric cabal.

Stepping up to Tom of the Holler, I experienced the full wash of his Grace. The heat of Summerfire’s approval radiated more than an arm’s length from the earth-elemental. On a more personal level, Tom of the Holler’s granite grey-brown “skin” sprouted a miniature-landscape in full summer’s vibrancy—including eyebrow bushes, a waterfall necktie, and all manor of nearly microscopic fauna. I smiled at the geologic fellow’s bare stone-feet.

Tom of the Holler’s unpretentiousness was easily as endearing as his choleric humor. Especially, since the chap’s down to earth nature seemed to fly in the face of his capabilities as Summerfire’s head-representative in such a historically melancholic or phlegmatic court. So, I was earnestly smiling broadly, as I approached the bombastic regent.

I slapped Tom, as hard as my slender arm would allow, on his bolder-broad right shoulder. There was no way that my slap was going to phase the man-mountain, if he even felt it. I just imagined that rowdy Tom would appreciate the gesture. Although, I did worry about possibly having crushed a teeny squirrel or bunny or the like. Simultaneously, I refilled Mr. O’Holler’s Super-Big-Gulp-sized ceramic-mug. Although, it would have saved time to have simply handed Tom the pitcher and take his mug, since the two were so similar in volume.

“Howdy Tom-O,” I emulated Holler’s gregarious intensity, “I’m a Tom, too.” I re-introduced myself, not expecting the regent to remember me, from our one prior conversation.

“Of course, you are, Twilight!” Tom of the Holler boomed, without hesitation, “You and your little friends tried to stop the Child’s Rite. Then, jumped in and made sure it took place.” Amused chortling accompanied his head shake. “I told Brick and Ms. Stella, here, all about it!” A nod, while drinking, towards his companions. “When Barber’s terror wore off and they found their way back!”

The indicated duo nodded affirmation and greeting. Both looked fairly sheepish at Tom’s reference to their having fled the Bright One fight.

“Heh, heh, yeah,” I nodded politely to the duo and responded self effacingly, “leaves in our hair and fresh Thorn scratches and all of that.” I shrugged a shoulder. “Makes for erratic behavior, I guess.”

I ignored the implication of cowardice, not wanting to disrupt, or get caught up in, the threesome’s discussion. Yet, I also wanted to move the topic past me. So, I plowed on, addressing Tom.

”Along those lines, I was hoping your greater experience could direct me to a solution, for a new situation.” Squinting, I scratched my ear. “I’m looking for how to break a transformation enchantment, one that’s been forced onto someone.” I gambled that the blunt inquiry, about something difficult, would capture enough of Tom’s attention, to prevent further prying into my motives.

“Someone’s been transformed, eh?” Mr. O’Holler bested my wager.

“I’m, uh, not sure how to answer that...” Loosening my blond-mop, with one hand, I mentally scrambled to calculate just how much I could get away with revealing. ”Let’s just say that they have been. And, let’s say, it was into a small woodland animal, about house-cat sized.” I refrained from mentioning Red Rhea as the enchantress, unless it became relevant.

Tom’s chortle was the echo of an earthquake, “So, 'tis a mystery then. Ha, ha! Well, I know little of such things! Except that slaying the caster will usually undo the enchantment!” He took a hearty swig. “If you’re inclined to be mincing about with _subtle_ ,” the word came out sour, “then you’d best bother one of those melancholic literary-types.” A half-brick thumb jabbed sideways indicating most of his Court members. “Or, better still, sit and drink awhile and mayhap a better solution shall arise?” the tankard hand gestured thoughtfully to another nearby bench, while the other swung.

Even bracing for the avalanche-like slap of camaraderie, I was still staggered a step. Shaking my head, with a grateful smile, I declined. “Perhaps another time. I’ve already interrupted all of you enough.” Nodding to each of the trio, I departed, leaving the crystal pitcher where I had found it.

It was regretful to not accept the influential fae’s invitation. Especially, in light of my personal goal to improve my social life. On the other hand, I was obligated to Jesse Frost and his/her nephew. So, until the Mostly dilemma was completely resolved, I dared not risk drinking with Tom of the Holler—excess simply seemed inevitable. Instead, to continue with the effort, I set-off to assist Tegan Bramblerose, at Sheaves & Leaves. I only sighed a little, considering that out of our entire motley only me and the militant bloomwell were the only ones willing to explore contingencies.

Striding the peaceful Ways, from the Barrow to the Freehold, left me little to think about, other than niggler-repelling ditties. A storm-grey sky peered through occasional jagged stripes, where the branches overhead were not quite reach across the path. From time to time, stray leaves danced, in a gust, across the trail. Smells of big fires and old vegetation persisted, with whiffs of sugar and wax mixed in. A couple other lone spirit-touched, bundled against the chill, passed by, going the other direction, and we exchanged acknowledging nods. Otherwise, the _crunch-crunch_ of boots on dry earth and a few distant raven caws were my only company. Realizing that the carrion birds had started cawing in time to my jingle humming offered all the incentive I needed to keep a brisk pace.

          At Ariadne’s, I did delay seeking Tegan, long enough to step through the mundane front-porch and download a score or so of old jingles, into a playlist on my iPhone6S. My resolve also wavered on my way back in, though. I paused to share pleasantries with Philomena and again, over a cup of decadent hot-chocolate, with Rosa. Then, obviously, the labyrinthine rare-book stacks slowed my search for the fair Bramblerose.

Eventually, I located Miss Bramblerose’s “base-camp”. The study area was a smallish table and two chairs, in a corner where the Dream and Reverie sections abutted. Three neat book piles were arranged on the table, two with a dozen or more volumes each and one with only two books. My floral motley member employed the eraser end of a pencil as a reading guide for an open leather-bound tome, pausing to flip the pencil and jot a note in an open notebook.

Glancing up at my approach, we exchanged minimal greetings, before Tegan explained, “This is what I could find, with help from the skinny Head Archivist guy.” She thumped the two tall piles, with her pencil. “That’s,” a tap on the pile of two books, “what I’ve scanned, so far.”

Nodding, I pulled up a chair and pulled-out my own note taking tools. The pair of us quietly browsed for useful data for several hours. Lots of old books and a pretty girl with which to study, filled me with warm contentment. Unfortunately, we only discovered a single nominally helpful possibility.

A handful of the texts referred to restorative waters. Apparently various types of magical fountain, springs, well, and the like existed within the Between and Lands Beyond, the most promising was purported to be in the Many Colored Desert. There were two major drawbacks, though. First, we had no way to determine how long a trek to and search of the Many Colored Desert would take. Secondly, the fountain in question might only restore memory, which may or may not be enough for Mostly to return to normal. Regardless of the vulpine lad’s mental state, if he did not regain his proper shape, then Tegan and I doubted that Ms. Frost would be any more accepting of our success.

Only a few of Tegan's original selection remained un-browsed, when Gavin Granitbane, Iron Wade the Man of Steal, and Raion-ju clopped up and loom over our little study nook. Simple greetings included the unnecessary explanation that Rai had led the trio from Amy’s oak.

Ruddy-orange Gavin plodded on, without interest in mine and Tegan’s findings, “We’re headed over to this Wilson Graves’s office,” thick-stony fingers touched the breast pocket, where the lawyer’s business card must have resided, “to see what’s what. We thought you’d want to come?” Marble blue-eyes linger mainly on me, since I had the car and the three big fellows would never all fit on Rai’s Suzuki.

Unsurprisingly, I was of two minds. My first reaction was a disappointed-resolved head shake, at the lack of support for our research project. On the other hand, there really were not many more sources to check and I was also curious about Mr. Graves. Glancing to my shapely companion, I raised an eyebrow, “Wadda you say, Tegan?”

          “No thanks,” Tegan’s light tone held no irritation, “you all go ahead.” My face must have betrayed my true preference. “I’ll finish up here.” The nimble lass opened on of the remaining volumes and started reading. “I’ll meet you back at the oak.”

          Nodding farewell, I gathered my belongings and followed the larger chaps into the World of Man. In the book store/tea shop’s parking lot, it occurred to me that Raion-ju had promised not to harm me, so I finally asked, “You realize how conspicuous you are on that crotch-rocket, in mid-December, right?”

          The line-backer bulk just shrugged, as he finished securing his helmet.

My drive was pleasantly quite, since Iron Wade had managed to call shotgun first. The dour gremlin rarely chatted. While the normally talkative Gavin tended to pout, whenever he was relegated to the backseat.

          Thanks to our crummy nightmares, Tegan and I had gotten going so ridiculously early that it was only just past 10:00 AM, as my three cohorts and I arrived at the lawyer’s office. Boggling at my Camero’s clock, I could not help thinking about Tom of the Holler and his early morning beer-conference. Although, for all I knew it had been very late for the boisterous community leader.

          The four of us found Wilson Graves PLLC, on the second floor of a strip mall, just above a Hallmark greeting cards store. The linoleum tiled hall of the second floor provided access to eight small commercial offices, though only half appeared to have been occupied. The business space of Mr. Graves consisted of two rooms—s small waiting area with a secretary’s desk, filing cabinets, and a couple of inexpensive sofas, while the main office was not quite large enough for Graves’s desk, chairs, and more filing cabinets.

No secretary was to be seen in the fairly Spartan reception area. Before I could express my concern that our oath-born attorney could not afford a secretary, he appeared from the main inner office.

“Hello, gentlemen. I’m sorry, my secretary is part-time this week, while she studies for her finals.” Wilson Graves was in his mid-forties, five-foot-ten-ish, bald with a band of dark brown, well cropped hair. The attorney carried his extra forty or fifty pounds as a plump all-over sort of softness. The man’s dark-grey, off the rack, wool-suit was clean, easily seven years old, and in-expertly pressed. Wilson’s tie was slightly loose and crooked and his suit-coat hung on a hook in his office. Chunky framed glasses sheltered wary green-flecked brown eyes.

          Even considering that Mr. Graves could only perceive my foursome’s Masques, we must still have presented an unlikely sight. My gangly six-foot frame bedecked in casually decent hiking attire, probably looked as if I were a low-rent extortionist. Especially since even my three allies’ Masques were larger than mine, as well as effortlessly intimidating.

          Possibly triggered by attempting to mentally juggle what Graves saw verses our real appearances, along with trying to interpret his body language, I experienced one of my chaotic mental moments. Adding to the inner-disarray, was wondering why neither Iron Wade or Rai seemed interested in participating in the interaction with Wilson Graves, even though they came. Furthermore, it was talkative Gavin that had taken the conversational lead, in his usual pleasantly-clumsy vagueness. So, amongst all the other whirling puzzle pieces of my psyche, I was also trying to put together a more believable narrative, from the bits of Gavin’s ill defined half-truths—regarding his True Name’s demise and where he had been. Could I get Graves to understand? Could anyone, based on what Mr. Granitbane seemed to be espousing? Has Gavin’s crazy-talk made Graves too scared to cope?

By the time I had organized enough of my thoughts, to regain vocabulary, Mr. Graves had tactfully retreated behind the nominal security of his desk, while Gavin and I sat across from him. Raion-ju and Wade loitered on the sofas, in the front office, looking bored. Had they expected a fist fight, for some reason?... I consciously blocked my thoughts pertaining to the two lumps.

          Mr. Graves, meanwhile, was making a decent effort of seeming interested in Gavin’s ramblings. Admittedly, part of my earthen colleague’s problem was that he was attempting to explain his false death, without talking about magic or faeries or outright lying—for some reason. Then Gavin made some off hand remark about Kendal’s negligence and Wilson Graves lit up. Unsurprisingly, the small-time lawyer was eager to file a suit against a major pharmaceutical testing corporation.

Luckily, that was when my voice clicked in, if not my full coherence. In my effort to prevent Gavin from bringing the attention of Kendal’s lawyers into our personal lives, I jabbered something which included mention of the Oaksworn. “Oaksworn” is what I had been calling our motley in the back of my head and proved to be the magic word, so to speak.

“ _Oh_ , Oaksworn…” Nodding with dawning comprehension, Wilson Graves shuffled a file, from a pile on his desk. “I just received the LLC paperwork, for the Oaksworn account, this morning.” Rounded shoulders visibly relaxed, as the weird men in his office became established clients. “I’ve only had the chance to give it a brief once-over. But, honestly, there isn’t much here. I was going to do some follow-up this afternoon. Since you’re here, we can just fill in the blanks now.” Wilson’s tone and innocuous-smile indicated that meeting had just started to make sense.

          “Uh, sure,” I improvised and played along, “we can probably answer most questions. Some things may require us to consult our…. uh, other partners. What sort of blanks do you need filled in?”

          Opening the nearly empty manila-folder the bald attorney also readied a yellow legal-pad and pen. “Well, I guess to start, what is it that you actually want from me? I mean, what sort of legal services are you looking for?”

          Like me, most of my motley had merely liked the idea of having a legal councilor on retainer, in anticipation of fall-out from the redcap massacre or some future brutalities. However, I doubted that any of us wanted to borrow trouble by announcing such isssues, without actual police involvement. On the other hand, I had to pitch something, before Gavin re-mounted his confusing personal hobby-horse. “Well, we, uh, the Oaksworn that is, are just starting out. And none of us have done anything like this before. So, if there’s any additional paperwork needed to conduct business in Ohio… Perhaps, you can also establish a bank account, which could allow our, uh, agents access to group founds… and yourself, of course, to cover your fees.” I shrugged slightly. “And if you have any suggestions, as I said this is new to all of us.” I was half-surprised that basic business practices had been an almost revelation to my Bright One addled mind.

          Graves’s shiny bobbing pate altered tempo from understanding-listener to relieved-approval, at mention of his salary. “Certainly, I can get the bank account established. I’ll double check these papers to see if anything else is needed, but until I know more about your specific business, there may not be much more needed.”

          Gavin Granitbane was not willing to leave it there, though. At least, the orange fellow had used the time to boil his twisted narrative into a succinct request, “For my part, I was falsely declared dead and I want that reversed.”

          “Yes, right.” Wilson’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “You were saying that Kendal’s experimentations resulted in a fourteen year comma, which they then covered up…”

          “I believe,” I cut Graves off, using True Names as that was what was on the Gyr generated paperwork, “Hank, misspoke and that his amnesia merely occurred after his Kendal funded clinical trial. Not that there was any proof it had been caused by the Kendal study.” I glance-glared at my earthen associate, to make sure that he was paying attention and was not going to complicate the legalities any further. “The facility, which cared for Hank, was more of a transient shelter situation and has since lost funding, So, they’re now defunct.” My look Mr. Graves was intended to convey that Gavin was still a little mentally disconnected.

          Taking my amendments in stride, our lawyer also started watching me for cues, as he spoke to Gavin. “Well, re-establishing life is not common, but it happens. It’s mostly a paperwork issue. But, will you be able to appear before a judge, if needed? There may be a request for a formal statement of your personhood.”

          Polished marble eyes gleamed with excitement, as Gavin agreed, readily.

Wilson’s overall copacetic reactions, nudged a few personal and speculative pieces into place for me. Prompting me to ask, “Um, I was also curious to know if you can get a copy of someone’s police records?” At the lawyer’s raised eyebrow, I hastened to clarify. “Um, amnesia is a sort of, uh, common cause with our Oaksworn organization.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And, uh, I’m concerned that there may have been some things in my past that I, ah, don’t clearly remember. So, if I could just verify that I don’t have any convictions or outstanding warrants or anything, it’d be a relief.”

          Straight faced, Mr. Graves jotted notes. I suspected that was a lawyer trick, to buy time without looking uncertain or uneasy. After a minute or so, Wilson looked up, “I don’t foresee any difficulties with either case. Both are mostly bureaucracy heavy, though, so time consuming.” Another note or two. “Until the corporate account is established and funded, how would you like to handle the processing fees and other expenses, for the paperwork and so on?”

          Since Mr. Granitbane and I had supplied the only actionable work, we forked over several hundred dollars in cash. In Gavin’s case the bills were all small, from his under-the-counter bouncing gig. For my part the transaction highlighted how long it had been since I had been to the poker tables in Vegas. Not that I really needed as much pocket money in Athens Ohio.

          After collecting Mr. Graves’s hand written receipt, we gathered up our ballast—Iron Wade and Rai. Then, our quartet headed back to our vehicles, in the mild chill and intermittent breeze. A few sunbeams even pierced the wooly clouds, here and there.

          Crossing the parking lot, I addressed my cat-eyed companion. “Rai, I want to stop at a couple of stores, before heading home. Can you wait for us at Sheaves & Leaves? It shouldn’t be long.”

          While Wilson Graves had been making his notes, I had jotted a few of my own. I also saw a few personal reminders of which I wanted to take care.

With a wordless nod, Rai drove off. Since my other two friends were getting a free ride, their opinions were not sought. Gavin had called shot-gun, so was happy to chat and go wherever I drove, at any rate.

After replenishing my wallet at the nearest Athens Federal drive-thru ATM, I spent some of the money at Michael’s Craft Supplies. My two towering passengers wandered the store with me, buy made no purchases. When Gavin asked about my selections, I said, “It might be nice to have something to do at the oak.” Not wanting to admit my true purpose, in case I failed spectacularly.

From Michael’s to Ariadne’s Sheaves & Leaves, I listened to my jingles play-list. I had considered making my cohorts listen with me, mostly because they really-really did not want to. However, my vintage Camero did not have a jack for my iPhone6S, so I opted for the better sound quality of my earbuds. Besides, with the ‘buds in, I was not expected to listen to Gavin the whole time. The mindlessly catchy ditties embedded themselves well, for regurgitation on my hike back through the Briar.

Lackadaisical Raion-ju awaited us, near the French-doors to the Freeholds main garden, and we strode off without fanfare. Our hike was marred by an increase of _cracking-snapping_ noises, for a period of time. Iron Wade the Man of Steal and I both said that it sounded like some massive thing (or things) was moving towards us. Our phlegmatic Briar-savvy guide merely shook his head and said “Ice.” Which, of course, made me imagine a vast and speedy glacier snapping trees, as it ground its way towards us.

Otherwise, the journey was uninterrupted. Although, I did feel that Rai led us over far rougher terrain than Tegan Bramblerose ever found. It was a disparity which seemed to be growing, the more often the panther-beastling led us on his own. On the other hand, I may have been over sensitive. So, I planned to confirm with my motley-mates individually, before criticizing and risking upsetting the swiftly brutal Rai.

          All four of our other motley members were at the tree-house, the eight of us gathered in the living room for information sharing. Starting with rocky Gavin’s enthusiastic recounting of meeting Wilson Graves and the eminent proof of life documentation. I saw no victory to be had by drawing attention to most of what the earthen bodybuilder overlooked—such as, the pointlessness of Iron Wade and Raion-ju having come along.

’s presence, for example. For my part, I decided not to bother shedding the light of my petty grievances on an event that was over and done. Although, there were technical details which I felt were necessary for every to know.

          So, when Gavin wound down, I added, “Mr. Graves is a fairly all-around lawyer, so pretty much any personal uses, as well as group projects, that need official paperwork are probably easy, through him.” I sipped mulled-wine from the wooden-goblet, which Amaryllis had provided. “He knows us as a corporate client, Oaksworn LLC. He also has all of our True Names, from the papers that the Gyr somehow provided him….” Snapping my fingers in remembrance. “Oh, and he’s opening a joint bank account, under the Oaksworn name. So, we’ll heed to fund that. Then, we’ll each get corporate debit cards.”

          “How much do we need to cough up for that?” Sean Tallwind pout-sneered.

          “As much as we want, I guess.” My left shoulder shrugged, “I assume we’d like to all chip-in a set amount, for a group slush fund. Then, cover significant personal legal matters, as we need to, individually.”

          negotiating, went on longer than necessary. Mainly because so man of my comrades still had not capitalized on their abilities—mortal or otherwise. $125 was settled on per person, with me and Tegan covering Amy’s share. We felt better knowing the dryad would be covered, even though she was unlikely to ever be in need of mortal legal aid.

          Admittedly, while the banking discussion was going on, I also made sure everyone added Wilson Graves to the cell phone contact lists. A prolonged process in its own right, as it involved each person stepping through our magical portal into the Red Rock State Park, so their phones would function. Even though, Sean insisted that electronics could function in the Thorns, he was never willing or able to demonstrate the technique. Not that I was ever likely to risk exposing my expensive devices to weird-power surges.

          With phones and finances sorted, we all resettled in the main room, where Tegan and I recapped our findings about a possible restorative-fountain in the Many Colored Desert. I also shared Tom of the Holler’s advise about slaying the enchantment’s caster. After having concluded that none of my motley were nearly ambitious enough to actually hunt down Red Rhea.

          “That’s fine an’ all.” The sour pile of wrinkles, known as Tallwind, said from his comfy chair. “But, we're still just gonna buy the cure at the Goblin Market, right?”

          “Yeah,” scar-handed Wade’s dry voice agreed, “I don’t see why we’d bother with anything else.”

          Gavin and Freerunner nodded. Amaryllis abstained and Raion-ju might have been asleep in his sofa-sized chair.

”Well,” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to remember how many times I had actually explained the reasons, “there _is_ a chance that we won’t find exactly what we need, at the Market.” My hand shot up, to forestall my redish-orange ally’s singing. “No matter what the song says… They do make sure to sing it out front, _not inside_ , the Market after all.”

          “Plus,” Tegan’s sighed sounded as resigned as I felt, while she stared somberly at the coffee table, “there’s no guaranty that any of us will be able to pay the goblin’s price, for any cure found.”

          No one was satisfied with that issue, however it was allowed to rest, in favor of eating. Lunch was a mostly potatoes and parsnips stew, with the last of the venison. While we ate, Iron Wade’s curiosity finally kicked in and he asked, “So, Tommy, why’d you buy all that arts and crafts stuff, anyway?”

          As I finished chewing my mouthful, I decided that my earlier reticence was useless, “I haven’t been as lucky with bartering my poetry, as I would like. And since going back to the Goblin Market seemed inevitable, I figured that I’d try making something more crafty.” Shrugging, I scooped up more stew. “Now that I think about it, though, I probably won’t have enough time to make something for tonight. But, I will have a head start for a later visit… probably next month, since they’ll be gone after tomorrow.”

Little lights seemed to pop on in the eyes around the table.

Which finally prompted my group to, after lunch, start looking for or making things to trade, as well. I shook my head, assuming that the nigglers must have addled my friends so thoroughly. Slow on the uptake dud not begin to cover how unaware my cohorts were of barter economy basics. At least, my “revelation” got most of them up and preparing trade goods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Containing: collecting cast offs,

another swear, and

solution purchase

I spent some time in my room redrafting a few poems and thinking. In spite of what I had said at lunch, as long as I had a wide variety of poetic themes from which to choose, any given goblin would ascribe some credit for one or another of them. On the other hand, as serious as I was about a crafts project, I could not generate any ideas. I have a small flash of inspiration, though, in that the renown goblin crafters were likely to be interested in trading for unusual raw materials.

          Calling my home’s dryad into my room, I respectfully asked, “          “Hey, Amy, would you mind if I took some of your fallen leaves and acorns?”

I theorized that thornwoven objects were constructed largely of Briar-materials. Plus, goblins bartered for hair, blood, or fingernails and it seemed pretty clear that our Briar-oak’s leaves and nuts were equivalent to dryad hair and nails. So, such items must be fairly valuable at the Goblin Market. Ideally, I would pluck the leaves and nuts direct from the living branches, however knew better than to suggest such a that to Amy.

Leaning out of the otherwise blank wall between my door and wardrobe, Amy giggled, “You’re becoming more squirrel-like every day. But, I don’t mind you gathering fallen leaves and nuts.”

          “Thanks,” I smiled wide, “um, would you mind helping me?”

          Big glossy-brown eyes rolled, as Amy shook her head with an accompanying rustle from outside. Then the tree-spirit faded into the wall.

          Grabbing the sheet off of my bed, I headed into our clearing. I must have stooped and crawled for an hour, diligently selecting the most intact leaves and acorns. Having proven my earnest willingness to work for my goal, Amaryllis did emerge from the tree-trunk and assist me.

Unsurprisingly, the supple tree-spirit worked quicker than I had been. Amy speed seemed even faster as I unintentionally found my progress slowed. It simply was not my fault, though. The tall, voluptuous, muscular dryad in skin-hugging multi-hued attire just would not stop bending, kneeling, and crouching in her collection of items. Thus, I naturally found it née impossible to keep my mind on the task at hand. So, even if my speculations about the value of Briar-oak cast-offs proved false, at least my investment of time had not been wasted.

          The leaves and acorns were piled high, on my raw-cotton bedding, when Dark Sol came shuffling into the clearing. Technically, Amy and I had probably gathered more than I could need for trade goods. Not that I was going to let such a fact interrupt my sightseeing.

That late in the afternoon the mighty trees heavily shaded our haven’s “yard”, although only hints of deep purple tinged the western portion of the brittle grey-blue, overhead. Therefore, Sol’s lackluster gate was symptomatic of her overall day-sickliness.

The chalky-pale lass wore knee-high black boots, black jeans, and a black hoodie. A thirteen-gallon white trash-bag, slung over one shoulder, seemed full to bursting, yet not very heavy. Sol, merely waved to me and Amaryllis, as she shambled purposefully up into the tree-house.

Amy phased back into the oak, as well. So, I gathered the corners of my sheet, into a sack, and followed after the prodigal darkling. Once inside, Sol tossed her crinkly bag to a corner, where it landed softly. Wincing, I wondered how long plastic-phobic Amy would let the garbage-bag rub against her walls and floor.

          Standing up, from doing push-ups on the living room floor, Gavin pointed his chunky chin at the trash-bag. “What’s that?”

          “And hello to you too.” Sol headed into the kitchen for a beverage, raising her voice to be heard in the living room. “It’s mostly hair. Some finger and toe nails, though.”

          Gavin and I shared a revolted expression. In spite of the metaphoric similarities that Sol’s bag shared with my sack. So, part of my reaction was a personal upset at being so akin to the morbid darkling.

          “Uh, _human_ hair and nails?” the weightlifter asked tentatively.

          Returning from the kitchen, with a ceramic mug of wine, Sol replied. “Of course it’s human, there wasn’t realty any way to gather that much of anything else.” The unzipped hoodie revealed a low-cut black cashmere sweater, sagging on her bony frame. “Besides, the goblins prefer parts from people… has something about the ability to generate wyrd, I think.”

          I followed the conversation, while our other haven-mates trickled into the room—presumably having heard Sol calling out from the kitchen. However, I mentally struggled with concern that my leaf collection had been fruitless, considering that neither Amaryllis nor her oak could produce weird. Since the work was already done, I chose to believe that parts of a glamour caster would still carry some value.

          “Um, enough for what?” Mr. Granitbane was unable to stop himself from digging deeper into Sol’s creepiness.

          “Oh, you remember,” Inky black eye-sockets twinkled happily, while Dark Sol flutter a chalky hand, ”the jar of eyes, that I’m getting from that neat goblin.” Her delighted smiled widened with the word ‘eyes’.

          Settling stiffly into a chair next to Sol, Iron Wade the Man of Steal asked, “What’re you trading for eyes?”

          Bracing myself for the conversation merry-go-round, I made a head-count. Everyone, except Raion-ju, had wondered in. So, I sighed with a modicum of relief. The introspective panther-lad was unlikely to care what was said, which meant that there was a chance that I would only be subjected to the information a second time.

          “That bag of human hair…” Sol pointed to the container, “and fingernails… and toe nails.” Her Cheshire smile relished the unease rippling through room.

          “Where… uh, where did you get them?!” Tegan’s slightly strangled voice and slightly widened big green-eyes, belied the forced composure of the rest of her alabaster countenance.

          “Oh,” Sol giggled, “it’s fine.” A dismissive flip of brittle paper-white hair. “I harvested it all from corpses, at the hospital morgue.”

Somehow that allowed my companions to relax. Which only caused my own shivers of dismay to redouble. Corpse-farming should never be the acceptable option. Contrarily, cynical Sean Tallwind just smirked, having never tensed, in the first place.

Admittedly, though, Sean’s smug expression was an echo of a feeling which I shared. I had long suspected that Dark Sol haunted O’Bleness memorial for unsavory personal gains. Frankly, I imagined that many of the living patients sported un-requested armature crew-cuts and mani-petties, in addition to the cosmetically violated corpses.

Seeing an opportunity to curtain any further rounds on that topic, I suggested, “Should we get Rai in here, to discuss inducting Sol into our motley?”

          I also felt the conversation may have reinforced why swearing Dark Sol into our mutual-protection pact would be useful, sooner than later. To the ex-Lit major vitalityleech’s credit, she needed very little recapping of what a motley oath entailed.

Even so, by the time Sol was ready and Rai had been roused, the sun had set. So, the unsettling darkling’s baggy cashmere-sweater had filled out to curve-clinging, while her skin and hair gained their preternatural nocturnal luster. Amaryllis produced the physical written copy of our oath, from wherever she kept it stored, and we all bore witness to Dark Sol’s solemn vow. The accompanying _ting-thrmmm_ was a delicate addition to the taught grip of the Oaksworn promises already in place, mingling to a single metaphysical harmonic tension. Sol herself gasped, presumably experiencing the binging of all eight of the other Oaksworn pledges, all at once.

In the small-talk which followed, I felt enough comradary to ask, “Hey, um, Sol, do you have another of those bags, that I could have?” I nodded to the bag of hair.

A small yet significant gesture, on my part, as I had avoided asking the vitalityleech for anything, up until then. Regardless of how minor, I simply would never have risk being beholden to dangerously-secretive Dark Sol.

Then, over dinner, Sol was brought up to speed on our All Mostly situation. Where Sean’s arrogance drove him make it sound as if it had been all his idea to let fox-Mostly loose in the abyssal-eyed lass’s subterranean room. Sol took the news in quiet stride, though I could tell that she was less than pleased with the idea of the semi-feral animal chewing up and befouling her piles and piles of clothes. Sol’s rigid false-pleasantry suggested that Mr. Tallwind was likely to experience some sort of pay-back, when next he was alone in the dark. Thus, also reminding me that retribution could take forms other than physical harm. So, while grateful for the garbage-bag, I renewed my policy of not looking to Dark Sol for favors.

          After dinner, Amaryllis remained with the oak, while the other eight of us trekked off to the Goblin Market. I found myself smiling, in the Wilder Woods, realizing that Amy had stopped fussing about being left alone. Our motley oath must have given the dryad a sense of belonging and safety, which had been missing.

Not that I really saw the need for anyone, other than Tegan, Sol, and myself to go. Since both the satiny haired platinum-blond and I each had specific purchases to complete and Miss Bramblerose was our best negotiator for haggling an enchantment breaker. Of course, Tallwind imagined that he was the only one who could successfully bargain for Mostly’s cure. The other four were probably just stuck in misconception, which sometimes seemed to hold each of us. Namely, if any of the motley were to be out of sight, then doom would inevitably befall them.

         The Thorny Between silently absorbed our partied every step. The only sounds, beyond our own breathing and rare hushed comments, were whispers which never came closer, yet also promised terrible things. So, my friends did not seem to mind my gently hummed jingles, for a change.

          I obeyed the traffic laws, to drive Tegan, Gavin, and myself to the Asylum. Therefore Rai’s Suzuki and ‘Runner’s cab were quickly out of sight. Raion-ju generally also drove lawfully, his bike just provided more nimble option for traversing traffic. Freerunner, on the other, always drove as if he were in a Mad Max movie. So, it was odd that “runner’s green and white cab was last to pull into the Asylum’s parking lot.

          “What took you so long?” Gavin jovially chided Freerunner,, Sol, and Sean, as they exited the taxi.

          “And where’s Wade?” Tegan added more seriously.

          Whisker twitched, as ‘Runner shrugged strong yet hunched shoulders, “Rregh he had me rrirr drop ‘im offrrmph on the othererer sid of rrr campus.”

          “Why?” Gavin glossy blue-marbles blinked.

          “’E wouldn’t say” Sean’s definitive grump sounded more like no-one in the taxi bother to ask.

Even so, the topic was dropped. Proving that what I had interpreted as an impulse to “protect all motley members”, was actually a self preserving “safety in number” imperative.

          The new evening’s Goblin Market jingle was performed by a short, pudgy, bald, pinkish fellow with a pig’s snout and cloven-hoofs for feet. The porcine-beastling wore a red t-shirt, tan cargo shorts, and played a ukulele while he sang.

The tunes rendition was clear, though, uninteresting. Which allowed me to make the connection that I could add the Goblin Market’s rules to my now rotating list of niggler-repent. Assuming that I could remember the lyrics, since my iPhone6S would not turn on, so close to the extra-dimensional bazaar.

          Dark Sol and I were the only two in our party with obvious trade goods, her lightweight white-plastic of human body cast-offs and my matching bag of extraneous tree parts. However, both of us delayed our personal purchases, in favor of staying with the group, to seek a fix for All Mostly. To that end, rather than wasting time dithering, a refreshing directness overcame Tegan and she strode straight to the Grawlis.

          “We need directions to someone that can sell us a way to turn a transformed spirit-touched back to normal.” Tegan politely, yet firmly, addressed the stool bound goblin. “What do you want for the answer?”

          The Grawlis was a different goblin than the other day. This Grawlis apparently identified as female, based on her well worn renaissance peasant’s dress and unruly bright-red Halloween wig. With a single blink of oil-brown eyes, the goblin replied, “A song?”

          “We got no songs,” Our shapely leader shook auburn locks, “how about a poem?”

          “Is it lyrical and about lost love?” the Grawlis squinted skeptically.

          Tegan turned to me, with a perfectly manicured hand on one well rounded hip. “Well, do you have something mushy and song-y?”

          “I’ll check.” I also blinked, a little stunned, not as sure that liked Tegan’s take-charge attitude when it was pointed directly at me. After a quick rummage through my pack, I confirmed, “Uh… yeah, sure. How about this one?” I handed a three stanza long poem to the Grawlis.

          The goblin “wench” merely looked at me, “What? I don’t get it recited?”

          Turning, I attempted to pass the paper to Ms. Bramblerose, since it was her deal. Arms folded across ample bosom and emerald stony-stare, indicated otherwise. I took a deep breath to cool my flare of indignation at how I was being treated. I wanted to be done with this quest, more than I wanted to argue my case. Therefore, I cleared my through and read my poem, as best I could.

          My poetry was always better than my ability to recite it. So, I was not surprised that when I handed the Grawlis my paper, she pursed her razor-thin lips, for several long moments, before providing her answer.

          Tugging on her one bulbous ear, the Grawlis said, “Sounds like you need Tsura. Tsura knows what you need.” She pointed to her left and gave a few directions to find the indicated merchant.

The seven of us exchanged minor missed optimisms, as we bustled through the makeshift lanes. Largely because Tegan’s stern glare squashed any hints of pessimism. After a relatively short search, we saw the sign “Tsura, Know-It-All”.

          While carved of wood, the sign had a ovular retro-futuristic design. Including spinning slowly at the peak of modest-sized lavender pavilion. Inside the tent, the only furnishings amounted to a knee beep sprawl of decorative throw-pillows.

          Tegan’s brusqueness kept her going, in lieu of introductions, “We need to return someone that has been turned into a fox, back to normal.”

Petite Tsura was probably less than five-feet tall, though it was hard to judge as she remained sitting calmly on her mound if pillows. The purported Know-It-All wore a sapphire-blue velvet dress of a conservative modern design, which hardly clashed with her minty-green skin, light-purple eyes, and long-straight almost-blond green hair. Unusually, for a goblin, Tsura had distinctly feminine curves and symmetrical feature. Although, the latter would have to be called strongly handsome, than pretty or girlish.

          “That’s interesting.” Tsura reply to Tegan, carried no particular emotion. “Perhaps, you should find a do-it-all. I don’t do. I know.”

          Whatever no-nonsense engine was propelling lovely Tegan, had taken her to a place where she was unable to cope with any minor miscommunication. The bloomwell threw up her hands, in exasperation, and stared into a corner.

I had to override an impulse to talk Tegan down, in favor of pursuing the “fix Mostly” goal. If I did not step up, then one of my more cantankerous allies would. Plus, getting the anti-enchantment would probably temper Tegan’s ire. Step-shuffling through the pillows, I interceded between the remarkably passive goblin and the fuming bloomwell. “That being the case,” I addressed Tsura’s claim, “surely you must _know_ of a method which we may employ, to achieve our goal?”

          “I believe, I gave you one,” Tsura’s maddeningly composed tone and posture remained unfazed, “find someone who can _do_ what you want.”.

          “We need to get this resolved much sooner, rather than at all later.” I mimicked the vendor’s placid manner. “If you do truly know all, then surely you should be able to tell us the safest way to achieve our objective?”

          “Safest?” A hint of tension crept into Tsura’s voice. “That is exceptionally vague.” Her purple eyes unfocused. “Safest for whom? Safe from what?”

          “ _I’m_ not a know-it-all.” My shrug was deliberate, “I imagined that you were the one with answers.”

          Thin green lips pursed once more, as the goblin glowered at me. “Well, I can tell you a counter transformation ritual. However, calls for the transformed individual’s true love to participate. Also, while the ritual itself poses no danger, participants have been known to inadvertently harmed each other.”

          “I think,” uncrossing her arms, Tegan nodded thoughtfully, “we can work with the true love angle.”

          Relief relaxed my shoulders, seeing that Miss Bramblerose had calmed down. Especially, since our so-called allies merely loomed, dumbly, in the tent’s entrance.

          “So,” I pressed on, “what price do you ask for the details of the ritual?”

          “A year’s servitude?” proposed Tsura, hopefully.

          My counter offer was an intentionally obvious low-ball of one-poem. Then, Tsura and I haggled, for a while. Unsure of what, if anything, the rest of my motley could provide, I had to negotiate using only my personal resources and hope that one of my obtuse comrades would step in. Although, I did struggle with the idea f offering my allies various talents, I just could not risk them being considered secrets. Thus, breaking my Oaksworn vow.

I had mentally prepared to part with one of my mortal memories, on my last visit to the Market. So, luckily, I was still in the correct mindset. For the only compromise Tsura and I could reach was a memory which included animals. Personally, I would have rather given up my fifth birthday. Dom, my older brother, had mashed my face into my cake and my parents wound up spending more time reprimanding him, than celebrating with me. Unfortunately, the cowboy’s horse decoration, on that cake, was not enough for the goblin know-it-all.

Fortunately, older brothers have always been the gift that keeps on giving and I had another memory, from a few years later. Our family had gone to a petting zoo, or farm, or something. Dom had pushed me again, or maybe he had pushed a goat at me, or I had fallen… whatever it was, I knew at that the experience had included several smelly animals, much larger than me at the time, and close up. So, easily a memory of which I was willing to let go.

To pay Tsura, she produced a glass-globe, containing a pink and ivory spotted-niggler, from the depths of the cushions behind her. I had to kneel into the cushions, so that the fish-thing could perform its duties from within the held bowl. The sensation was like the reverse of having an experience—my wonder, fear, disgust, and so forth within the childhood memory simply unspooled and flattened out. Afterwards, it was as if I sort of knew a dream which someone else had described to me.

Then Tsura explained the counter-transformation ritual, a few times, to make certain that at least Tegan and I had it down. While technically simple, the ritual did call for a continuous chat to be recited and a circle of rosemary. The chant was not in English, yet was short and easy to memorize phonetically. Fortunately, the number of chanters did not matter, as long as at least one person kept it up throughout. Sadly, most of the crowd that had insisted on being there, seemed bored and distracted, so hopefully Tegan and I would be enough by why of chanters.

The rosemary circle was a question-mark, which Tegan and I set aside for the moment.

The crucial third component was True Loves kiss. “The transformed must be held and kissed, from start to finish>” Tsura stressed for the third time.

“Is this were all the kiss tales come form?” My browse were raised with academic curiosity, “Like sleeping beauty and Snow White?”

“Those are a different rite altogether.” Tsura shook her had. “However, True Love is powerful and useful in many rituals.”

          As we exited the knowledge merchants stall, I looked around, “Where’s Sol?”

“Hmph,” Sean Tallwind snorted, “saw the eyeball dealer, didn’t she. So, was off like shot. Barely said why.”

“Should we look for her?” Gavin Granitbane wondered.

With a sigh, Tegan regained some of her decisiveness, “No. We’ll just keep going. She’s proven that she’ll find her own way.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, as we all stared walking, “I suppose that I was kind of hoping that swearing the oath would have got her more invested in this project, though.”

“Not rerereally about ourrr protection or health urgh though, is it?” Freerunner pointed out.

          “I’m thinking,” Tegan pulled us back on topic, while we made our way back to our vehicles, “that I should be able to talk Mosley’s girlfriend, Veri, into providing the kiss.”.

          “Are they in _True Love_?” Sean’s tone indicated that he did not believe that such a thing was really possible.

          “Well,” hands on hips, Tegan stared emeralds-daggers at the burn-scarred gnarling, “I’m pretty sure that _she_ loves him. Besides, it’s the best that we got. Unless, you’ve got a better idea?”

          Tallwind mumbled something, but did not challenge the bloomwell martial-artist.

          “Rrmm guess I’ll drive.” ‘Runner shrugged. “Hmghph if she urr ain’t at rrr work, rririrr the ferrets told rrr me whererere she lives.”

“I’ll go with too.” Proclaimed Gavin.

          The brief back-and-forth, which followed, pitted Gavin’s earnest desire to bodyguard the petite Miss Bramblerose against her preference to deal with Veritas one on one. Tegan stopped short of calling Mr. Granitbane a useless lummox and lost the argument. Of course, being that rude may have only meant that Gavin still insisted on going and then moping the whole time. For my part, I merely smiled, as even bad argumentation was fun to watch. Plus, with Gavin’s stony-mass in the taxi, my Camero’s shocks would get some relief from carrying his weight.

          “So,” I scratch my chin, “where and when are we doing this?”

          “Rrr soonerer the betterer…” ‘Runner’s whiskers quivered. “Urmph don’t think ourrr haven’s a irrr good location rrr though.”

          Nodding along with the rest of my gang, I pointed out, “Then, we need someone to collect fox-Mostly and bring him to…” no place came to mind.

          “If Rai can lead me,” Sighed Tallwind, as if he bore the weight of the world. “I’ll get the critter. And we can all meet back at the Freehold.”

          Raion-ju was listening closely enough, for a change, to nod his agreement.

While part of me wondered why Rai could not collect the fox himself, another part was more concerned with the rules of membership which we had all signed to gain access to Ariadne’s. “Is doing it at the Freehold a good idea? I mean there was that whole line about ‘one part of anything wrot on the premises, belonging to Ariadne’. What happens, if that applies?””

          “We can settle on a place, for the actual ritual, after we’ve collected all of the components.” Decisive Tegan resolved, after a moment’s collective pause. “Meeting at Ariadne’s, is as good a place as any to start from.”

          “Rrr that leaves the rrrrrosemary.” ‘Runner’s rounded ears twitched.

          Looking up, into Raion-ju’s reflective bluish-green slit-eyes, I asked, “On your way, can you pick some up in the Briar? Using that Find-It glamour.”

          Rai blinked, then shrugged, “Could, but it might take a long time.”

          “Especially, if there isn’t a bunch all in one spot.” Tegan nodded confirmation.

          “Well,” I scratched my head with both hands, “without Iron Wade or Dark Sol, that leaves me, right?” bighting my lower lip, thoughtfully. “I guess, I can drive around, to a bunch of the all-night groceries, and buy whatever rosemary they have.”

          “Uhrr me too.” Swimmer’s shoulders shrugged, as Freerunner nodded towards Tegan and Gavin. “Aftererer I drop them off.”

          “Cool…” I thought for a moment. “And, we can coordinate via text, to make sure we don’t waste time hitting the same stores.” Glance at everyone. “In fact, we should all text our progress… whenever our phones are working.”

          By then the six of us had reached the parking lot. Where most of us were treated to the delightfully absurd sight of wrinkly stiff-sided Sean scrabbling onto the back of Raion-ju’s crotch-rocket. The gnarling contrarian’s awkward discomfort made up for a fair amount of his previous snideness.

All went smoothly for the next few hours. Even without Wade or Sol’s assistance, all of the ritual components were gathered. Although, dour Mr. Man-o-steal did at least respond to all of our group texting, albeit with, “Be there, if I can”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Containing: ritual,

complication, and

resolution

I was first to join Sean Tallwind, Raion-ju, and their vulpine parcel, in the Freehold’s Victorian Garden. Sean had texted their arrival almost a half hour earlier, so I had headed over and stopped in at the two grocer’s along the way. Svelt Freerunner came through the French-doors barely a minute behind me.

‘Runner and I were each laden with a dozen of so grocery bags, from as many stores. Our bundles all bulged with rectangular rosemary-fill plastic clamshell packets. Sean also had a new bag, though his was a second backpack, of black and silver, containing a squirming fox-Mostly. Rai had no new containers, though he was wearing his metal gauntlets with the cold-iron embedded knuckles.

The four of us waited for what seemed like quite a while. Just as twitchy-whiskered ‘Runner was heading back to the mortal world, in order to text our absent companions, the duo strolled through the glass-paneled doorway. Aquiline Veritas trailed trepidasciously after Gavin Granitbane and Tegan Bramblerose. The Veri hung back several aces as the limber bloomwell and plodding rock-elemental got with conversational distance.

          “What’s with her.” Grumped Sean, jutting a saggy chin towards the reticent waitress.

          Tegan’s verdant-eyes looked sidelong, toward dark-haired Veritas, before responding, “She’s not a hundred-percent on board, yet. She wants to ask all of us some questions, before we proceeded.”

          Our party collectively shrugged and nodded and Miss Bramblerose gestured the other lovely lady over.

Veri took a steadying breath, then swayed over, her hips a sultry pendulum. Against the December night, the bar-maid had donned puffy-boots, knitted gloves, scarf, and cap, all in matching burgundy, which made the purple of her crystalline-eyes pop. The blue-jeans and olive-green wool peacoat were less flattering. Closer up, purpled glass-sphere earrings also peaked from below the knit-cap and raven-hair.

          “So,” Veritas said with nervous and defiance, “tell me what you want from me.”

          “We just need you to stand still and hang onto this fox,” Sean snapped and jabbed a poker-like thumb at the wriggling backpack, “while we change him back to Mostly.”

          Veri’s extreme skepticism flowed smoothly into bitter indignation—pillowy lips tightened, deep-violet eyes glinted icily, and her stance became more rigid. I fully expected the curvaceously Mediterranean beauty to simply turn on her heel and storm off.

For my part I needed a moment to pick up my jaw, from where it had fallen open at Mr. Tallwind’s asinine rudeness. The back of my head spun through scenarios and the best that I could come up with was that niggler’s had eaten so much of Sean’s thoughts that he had forgotten why we were there and the consequences of not getting Veri’s help. Even more disturbingly, my boggled-wide amber-peepers saw no similar shock or worry from any of my motley. Closest was a slumped shoulder sigh of resignation from Tegan. Which I assumed had to do with being out of option, after having worked very hard to get Mostly’s suspicious girlfriend that ar.

          “Hey, uh, Veri, right?” I took a desperate step forward, purposely blocking the bar-maid’s view of Sean Tallwind.

          Veritas refocused her stern gaze, onto me, then nodded curtly. The wild mane of black locks poured from the burgundy hat to splash and dance about woolen shoulders.

          “Um, cool, uh, I don’t know if you remember me,” my left hand rubbed the back of my neck, “I’m Twilight Tommy, but most people just call me Tommy.” Outwardly, I was maximizing a façade upbeat positivity, as well as stalling to let Veri’s emotions mellow a little.

Inwardly, I pumped wyrd into my Fairest Tongue and Fortune’s Favor, while scrambling for what I could say to make the un-transformation happen. ”Look, ah, we believe Mostly has been turned into this fox.” I waved to Sean backpack, without breaking eye-contact with Veri. “Then, we bought a counter-transformation, at the Goblin Market, but it calls for true loves kiss.” I shrugged. “Since we’d heard that you and Mostly were an item and you still seemed so upset about his disappearance, after so many weeks…” I took a breath, to keep from talking too fast. “Well, we’re gambling that you’re the true-love-real-deal.” I turned my ever-tan palms outward. “So, if you’d just agree to participate, then we can get your boyfriend back to normal… and back to you.”

          Red-stained lips remained tight, although Veritas relaxed her posture, slightly. Amethyst-eyes narrowed, in what I hoped was speculation. After a moment, Veri held out her hand, “Let me glamour you and then hear you say that.”

          The sway of auburn-hair, in my peripheral vision, defined a nod from Tegan. So, I overrode my instincts to haggle for assurances of my safety. Stepping closer to Veritas, I rolled up my left sleeve

An almost-numb warmth lingered on my golden-brown arm, along with a wine-stain hand-print, where Veritas had lightly gripped. As I repeated our mission and need, the faery mark began to slowly faded.

“How are you so certain that the animal is my Mostly?” Asked Veri, thoughtful of voice and stance.

          “We used several glamours.” In the back of my mind, I wondered if the lass’s glamour or my Fairest Tongue, was compelling me willingness to answer so honestly. Not that I tended to speak deceptively, anyway. “Also a couple of magical devices. They all pointed to this fox being mostly. So, even though magic can be dubious or pernicious, I don’t see how it could apply here.” The purple- red hand-print faded a bit more.

“Why are you all doing this? What is Mostly to you?” Tentative hope crept into Veri’s wary-curiosity

“We just want Mostly back to Mostly.” I shrugged. “”We’re not looking for anything else from him, once he’s safe again.” I considered mentioning King/Queen Jesse, then opted not to risk breaking or deal. “We’re not being altruistic either, but we promised not to discuss more than that, until it was done…” I rubbed the back of my neck, while realizing that any glamours compelling me to truth, fell short of full disclosure. “Frankly, I’m a little nervous saying that much.”

          The mark on my arm vanished, while Veritas considered my words with lowered head. After what felt like more than a whole minute, the inky cascade of curls was tossed resolutely back peacoat-shoulders. “Alright, the two of you, at least, believe what you’re saying.” Sparkling purple eyes indicated me and Tegan. “That doesn’t mean you’re right, though. However, I have to take the chance that you _are_ right, so I’ll do what I can.” Her gemstone eyes met my own, once more. “You mentioned true-loves-kiss, so does that mean I need to be in the middle of a special circle or something?”

          The whisper-light thing- _thrim_ of Veri’s conviction bound itself like a lamprey to the shark of our promise to Ms. Frost.

As Tegan and I recapped Tsura’s instructions, it was evenly refreshing to see that Veritas was both familiar with the methods of rites in general and our faery-ritual in particular. Less refreshing was the obvious need of the recap, displayed on the faces of our fellow Oaksworn. At least, I had something to do, while talking, other than seethe at my inattentive cohorts. All seven of us sat and wove the rosemary sprigs, into a cord which would be closed to make a hoop. Since our instruction had merely called for a ring of rosemary, we had opted for the most complete and hardest to sever version, of which we could think. Miss Bramblerose’s even employed a bloomwell glamour to caused each twig of herb to grow slightly, giving us more material with which to work and occasionally fusing the bits together.

          Although, Gavin, Rai, and Sean fell out of the task. Which I felt was just as well, as far as the thick hands of the two ogre’s were concerned. To be fair, I imagined that spindle-fingered Tallwind was in a bit of a flashback shock to the captivity which distorted his hands in just that way.

         I had to grant Sean such empathetic thoughts, especially because I was experiencing exactly that sort of mnemonic blindside. Flashes of my captivity revealed chilling mental images of my unnaturally-slight fingers, braiding and braiding, more and more intricate plaits of impossibly fine and terribly unruly locks. Was it even hair? It could easily have been cloud-stuff and moonbeams. Whether my Sidhe Master’s, His stead, some honored guest, did not matter, my memories were filled with ecstasy at being allowed to touch such fine strands. Simultaneously, I knew overwhelming dread of the unearthly punishment which would be meted out for even one unreal-filament imperfectly woven. Then and regardless, a fresh fancy would take my keeper and I would be charged to undo and start anew, more intricately than the last.

          Even so, unlike melon colic Iron Wade staring fear-fixed into a forge or Sanguine Sean favoring his personal comfort over getting a job done, my unpleasant memories were just another challenge to overcome. As reward, my efforts made the rosemary hoop faster, stronger, and prettier. By the time the herbs ran out, our portable-circle was large enough for two people to stand within, or collapse if necessary.

Tangled into the chaos of my split concentration had also been a discussion of where to perform the ritual. I picked up the salient points, though. No-one present cared for the idea of performing powerful group-magic in the mundane world. Going to our haven, the Black Forest Pub or the Salamander Court was deemed too time-consuming. Ariadne’s Freehold remained problematic due to its membership clause. Thanks to my mind-jumble, it would not be until much later that I would wonder if Ariadne was technically entitled to a portion of the rosemary hoop, which we had just created on the Freehold’s grounds. So, the process of elimination, left the eight of us (counting All Mostly) hiking a hundred or so paces into the Wilder Woods.

Tegan Bramblerose led us using her Briar Finding glamour and we had been prepared for a longer hike. Instead, the mutable Thorn Maze provided a suitable clearing, just as we lost sight of the Freehold’s flickering lights.

          The roughly-circular grassy opening, in the forest, was less than a dozen-yards from edge to center. The parameter foliage consisted of unusually young trees, allowing the undergrowth to rise up even more aggressively. So, the canopy of branches barely extended into the clearing, while the shrubbery effectively made an irregular wall around the place.

I watched the sky, with some unease. Even without the tree-cover, the it was pitch dark, thanks the impenetrable clouds. So, there was no way to be certain how close we were to sunrise. The time of day was not crucial, however Tsura had advised a moonlight ritual, if possible.

“Why?” Tegan had asked intently.

Tsura’s thin lips had twitched in the must subtle, yet unmistakable shrug, “Change is Moon’s domain. Invoking a new transformation can only benefit from Moon’s blessing.”

So, entering the clearing, I fretted that we working under cloud- induced penalties. Negatives which would only increase, should Dawn push Moon’s influence even further away.

Faint wood-smoke accompanied the light and icy breeze. The rustling branches and leaves sounded more like fields of dry corn stalks, than a forest. Yet, while setting up we quickly learned that, even though my moonlight aura did not glisten off of the ankle-high grass, it was still cover in enough chilly dew to soak clothes unpleasantly.

          Kneeling in the cold-wet grass, Tegan handed me some thin twigs. As the bloomwell walked across to the opposite side of our impromptu ring, I asked, “What’s this?”

          “I stripped some of the rosemary stalks.” Tegan explained, while also kneeling down to help set the ritual circle. “Use them to staple the circle into the earth.”

          Complying, I nodded approval at the extra precaution against the rosemary being accidentally disturbed.

Meanwhile, Veritas made the only preparation that she could. Removing her peacoat, Veri left it just outside of the herb ring, where it blended with the grass. Of course, since my faery-light was monochromatic, all of the shades of grey tended to obscure each other. Thus, I could only guess that the dark peasant-blouse, worn by the well-proportioned waitress, was deep red or purple with green vine-like knotwork-embroidery. On the other hand, my luminous aura made it clear that Veri had chosen not to wear a bra, or the one which she had was woefully inadequate, against the almost wintery air.

Ogling, Tallwind handed his gently squirming backpack over to the set-jawed Veritas. Then, the mildly distraught serving lass stepped into the ring of rosemary. My preference to thwart Sean’s leering pleasure, trumped my own lasciviousness. So, I double-cast Summer’s Embrace. By tricking the glamour into effect with a spit out match flame, I was always able to counter the extremes of any temperatures for myself. Then, by also adding some wyrd, I extended the effect to the full range of my faery-light. So, a modicum of gratitude entered the tense-anxiety of Veri features, while my allies, in the clearing, loosened their cold-weather garments.

Meanwhile, a justifiably tense-tense hushed conversation was being held to the side. Our other male party members were debating how best to guard the proceedings.

“Rrr best not to irgh have morerere than one person rrirr close when the rrritual is happenin’” Freerunner asserted.

“I’ll stay.” Raion-ju’s deep resonance was quick an sure.

Gavin pouted, “I don’t know…” Marble-eyes search for an option that would let him stay closure to potential danger. “Tommy and Tegan will both be chanting, so maybe I should stay too.”

Sean snorted derisively, “Let it go buddy. ‘Runner’s right and Rai got dibs.” A pencil-y thumb swung, indicating the otter-beastling, gnarling, and earthen-ogre. “We get to scrable through the brambles, on parameter duty.”

As the trio trudged back into the concealing tree-line, I shivered. Like Gavin, I would have preferred more protection, closer than not. On the other hand, I would really rather that any guards would be unnecessary.

Once everyone was in place, Veritas nodded her readiness. Tegan and I shared a deep breath and nod, then started intoning. Similar to the bodyguards, I dearly hoped that having a back-up chanter would prove to be an unneeded precaution. The lithe redhead and I stayed at counter-points, as we warily paced around the ritual circle.

The detached observer bits of my mind started, or perhaps continued, to ponder why Veri looked so nervous and resigned. Since the voluptuous bar-maid had seemed familiar with the specific rite, I suspected that she was anticipating something which she assumed the rest of us already knew. When the harmony of mine and Tegan’s bright-clear voices reached the kneeling lass, she unzipped Sean’s silver-accented pack and lifted the fox free. Raising the startled animal’s face to her own, Veri kissed it on the tip of its muzzle. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, having expected the fox to bight and claw.

Then, “surprise, surprise, surprise”, a complication did arise. At the moment in which Veri’s lush lips met the vulpine’s, cawing and scrabbling noises erupted within the nearby forest. Looking to my military-minded fellow chanter, I saw that Tegan Bramblerose was crouched with a throwing-knife poised in each alabaster hand. As we continued our repetitive recitation, the lithe bloomwell’s glinting-green eyes pierced a particular point in the Wilder Woods.

Following the fixed gaze, I saw shadowy figures crashing towards us. There were between two to four man-sized shapes, mostly obscured by trees and shrubs. More pressing were the three avians flying at us, from the same location.

There came an unclear shout, in Gavin Granitbane’s voice. Then, I spotted the blocky fellow and sleek Freerunner cutting across opposite edges of the clearing, each moving to intercept the shadowed walkers.

The fowl trio avoided our parameter team, to circled the ritual in progress. Each bird was as large as a falcon. My eyes watered at the sight of the avians, each looked as if two ravens were attempting to occupy the same space—four eyes (stacked one set over the other), four wings (almost dragonfly-like in positioning), and four talons (all in a line, from the left to the right). Somehow the foul beasts were able to fly, though their unearthly movement made my bones itch. Plus, the double-bird’s coloring shown, even in my moon-like illumination—a uniform dark blood-red of feathers, eyes, beaks, and talons.

          Two of the blood-ravens dove, one each at me and Tegan. Raion-ju coiled, muscles like cables, and lept a dozen feet. Massive hand-claws swatted one feathery creature before it could reach my crouching form. Tegan warded off her own aerial attacker, with deft swipes of well-honed knives.

          I heard the crashing, in the woods, increase, yet had no attention to spare for observing. It was clear that my motley-mates had engaged our terrestrial foes, otherwise I had to trust that they could handle that aspect of our threat.

          Continuing my chant, I slipped my hands into my coat-pockets and the thick-leather workman gloves therein. After quickly wrapping my length of cold-iron chain around my padded right-knuckles, I gripped a roll of dollar coins in each fist. I had just enough spare mental capacity to offer silent thanks to my fortune, or the Gyr, or whatever was responsible for us having so recently taken our Oaksworn vows. For, while I concentrated on speaking the correct arcane syllables and fiddled with my makeshift ‘knuckles, I had to rely on Rai to protect me from harm and not simply rush off to the larger prey in the foliage-bound side of our conflict.

While my clear baritone continued to mingle with Tegan’s pristine soprano, her crystal-sharp eyes darted about, tracking all three circling-swooping bird-things. While the nimble lass’s eyes flicked and her body cautiously pivoted, her knifes remained poised and steady. Tegan’s graceful martial-art’s movements kept her stepping around the rosemary ring, so I stayed opposite her, albeit less fluidly than either of my comrades. Rai’s crouched form paused and prowled with the elegance of every feline on the hunt. Reflective slit-eyes only leaving one target, if another happened to fly closer.

In the circle, Veritas held and kissed a rabbit, which was shifting into the form of a deer. Had I the leisure, I would have smacked my forehead, in reprimand for not recognizing the ritual sooner. Sadly, I continued to forget that fairytales of my mortal life were histories and manuals for spirit-touched existence. So, the classic Tale of Tamlin accurately described the effects of breaking a fairy queen’s hold over another lady’s love. As Tamlin’s story scrolled past my mind’s eye, I empathized with Veri’s nervous resolve, since All Mostly’s transformations were likely to get much more difficult to hang on to.

Scanning the clearing edge, I was given a new worry to juggle. Just close enough to be within my illumination, between to sapling away from the direction whence Gavin and ‘Runner had rushed, leaned a hare-beastling. The rabbity lad was in a simple sack-shirt and casually ate what seemed to be a cooked chicken-leg. Was this guy directing our attackers? Was he a different threat? Could it be possible that he really wanted to watch? How quickly could I reach him? Why did I not have a missile weapon, like Tegan?

The discordant sound of me slowing my recitation, compared to Tegan’s steady vocalization, brought me back from the brink of full distraction. Thankful, not much was left of the conflict. careful maneuvering had allowed Raion-ju spring twice, each time knocking a crimson-raven dead to the ground. Though, Miss Bramblerose’s blades had wounded one of those kills earlier. The final flier also fell to one of dexterous Tegan’s knives flicker-flashing, through my magical moonlight, and biting deep into its breast.

          All the while, Tegan and I chanted and chanted. And within the ritual’s circle, All Mostly continued to change and change. I regretted missing some of the shapes, though there had been a massive constrictor-snake and later a tiger. Worst of all, Mostly’s penultimate form was a pillar of crimson and white fire. Yet, Veritas held and held and kissed and kissed. Even as her fella literally burned her, the swarthy elfin lass displayed her affection. Then, Veri’s partner was man-shaped.

I ceased chanting and spun to face the rabbit-eared spectator. My piecemeal memory recounted Sean’s story from a few days earlier, so I snapped, “Hey, Cornelius,” I pointed at the fallen avians, “you with them, or they with you?!”

Cornelius’s soulful rich-brown eyes went wide with shock that I knew his name.

My tone and body-language clearly carried my anger and intended threat. “Are you hunting us?!”

Raising his free right hand (the other still held meat), Cornelius shook his head with certainty. Floppy ears nearly smacked their owner’s face. The _zing-hmm_ of the Gyr confirmation passed between me and the bucktoothed fellow. Even so, I studied Cornelius for a long three-count, before saying, “All right then.” and returning to my party.

Had Ariadne’s not been so close, I would have invested more time into trying to extract further reassurance, regarding future actions. As it was, we would be on neutral “no fighting” ground soon enough. Besides, realistically, Cornelius had probably bought his snack from Borris the Freehold’s night chef and we hand been lucky that our battle had not gone on longer and attacked more lookie-lous.

Rai watched over Veri and Mostly, while Tegan and I stalked into the forest to check on our other three friends. Woodland combat had had favored the Oaksworn less, than our ground to air defense. Specifically, Sean Tallwind lay prone, with another neck wound, although less sever than the one he had received from Doctor Barber.

“Is he cursed? Or, does he just charge enemies throat first?” I murmured to myself. Although Tegan did snicker.

Freerunner was already kneeling over the bleeding gnarling and Miss Bramblerose hurried over, producing a first-aid kit from her pack. Gavin Granitbane stood nearby, still flushed with adrenalin, so their fight must have ended more recently,

“Those scarecrow-things,” Gavin reflexively recounted their battle, “were makin’ a bee-line for the ritual.” He gestured at two humanoid bodies, laying akimbo in the brush.

I considered asking the fireman-turned-ogre to help Tegan tend our sworn ally. However, Gavin’s giddy jerkiness, made me concerned that he might do more harm than good, at the moment, fortunately, Tegan mused aloud. “Huh, it must be our motley blessing or benefit or whatever.” While unwrapping a pre-threaded needle. “Normally, I wouldn’t have the confidence to suture a wound like this. But, right now, it just seems effortless.”

I had to assume that Tegan and ‘Runner did not need more assistance, as I was otherwise grimly transfixed. The two fallen enemies did indeed look like jumbled scarecrows, all rag-covered pole and branch limbed with painted-bag heads. In fact, one such head dribbled sawdust or sand, from where it was casually held in Gavin’s rough-edged hands.

Freerunner must have seen my stare, for he grumbled. “They neverrrr made a rrumph sound. But, I’m irr pretty surererer they werere distracted, mentally urm directin’ rrerr those rrraven things.”

“Maybe.” Gavin claimed, “They were still pretty fast, though. Oh, and getting close to ‘em caused a dread in me.”

I was able to tear my amber-eyes from the carnage, in time to see, Freerunner nodding his whiskery head. Tallwind also managed to raise a long-thin thumb, to confirm having also experienced the supernatural fear.

My stomach churning horror was redoubled, as Gavin Granitbane proceeded to peel the canvas sack away from the head in his hands. The apparently emotionless stone-elemental then bent down and repeated the defilement, on the other corpse. Tightly bundled straw skulls held very real human-eyes, with fleshy-pink tongues behind dried-corn teeth. Turning away, just fast enough to barely suppress the vomit, which sought freedom of my constricting stomach.

The earthen-lump of orange ogre looked at me confused, “What’s the matter? What are they?”

          “They _were_ people!” I snapped, outraged at Gavin’s oblivious callousness, “People, just like us.” I waved a hand, indicating everyone present, “People that had been taken from their families and twisted by the Folk ‘til they no longer looked human.”

          Gavin just blinked marble-eyes at me. Obviously, the block of barely-formed brick-work no longer even understood why murder was wrong. If Gavin ever knew, that is. After all, even mortal firemen had the capacity for sociopathy. Even so, I was more convinced that the Bright Ones had warped or stolen Gavin’s morality, as much as they had made the scarecrow fae at my feet.

Regardless of the reason, I once more found myself wondering how long it would be before Gavin, or one of the others, decided that I or Freerunner or Amy or whomever, were no longer human enough. Would the Oaksworn oath be enough to protect us, if any of the others decided we looked like monsters? With no answers forthcoming and to escaped Mr. Granitbane’s continued bemusement, I stomped back into the clearing to seek solace in the reunion of Mostly and his true love.

          Although, the duo were in poor condition for celebrating. Veri and Mostly both looked exhausted as they continued to embrace and support one another. Each of the spirit-touched lovers were smeared with blood and there was the distinct odor of burnt flesh. Mostly was wholly naked, while Veri’s peasant-blouse and a flimsy brassier lay at their feet, shredded and charred. My temperature-regulating glamour had faded away, so the bare-skinned pair also shivered quite strongly.

Still fairly stunned, I merely took sentry position, on the other side of the rosemary circle from Raion-ju’s. In short order, acting field-medic Bramblerose was able to leave Tallwind in ‘Runner’s care and jog over to tend Veri’s injuries. Following Tegan, with a passable mimicry of compassion, Mr. Granitbane removed and offered his coat, to the burnt, bloodied, and half nude waitress.

That sight snapped me into action. So, I was only a step behind, the rough-hewn flesh-render. I held forth Veri’s own wooly-jacket, having picked it up and shaken off the dew. When Veritas reached for her own garment, Gavin shrugged and gave his coat to All Mostly, instead.

When the lovers parted enough to don the jackets and let Tegan inspect their wounds, it was fairly easy to see that All Mostly was unscathed. On the hand, Veritas was quite damaged.

Second-degree burns blistered Veri’s hands and face and to a lesser degree her forearms, as well as some scorched discoloration to the front of her jeans. Although, some of the staining also came from the cold-wetness which had soaked the pants, from the grass. The source of the rapidly congealing blood on both ritual participants was the dozens of relatively shallow cuts and scratches on the elfin lass’s shoulders, chest, and stomach.

Other than bloody, the restored All Mostly was a dark-skinned, lean and lithe, five-foot-six. The nude fox-beastling was also fully and unabashedly aroused. Though, the frosty air quickly took its toll, once Mostly had separated from Veri’s embrace. Even so, it was easy to se at least one reason why Veritas cared for the youthful lad. In spite of the cold, Mostly almost languidly used the remains of Veri’s blouse to wipe away most of her blood, before donning Gavin’s faux-leather bomber-jacket.

The extra-large garment gave the slight lad the look of a medieval monk and, once zipped, made it possible to inspect his other features. All Mostly barely looked fifteen, especially due to his almost-mustache. However, I could pass for a teen as well, so such appearances hardly mattered. Mostly’s vulpine aspects included big soulful eyes, sharp elongated canines, large triangle-ears, and a bushy tail..

Other than Veritas confirming that she felt well enough to walk, our party was soberly silent, as we prepared to return to Ariadne’s. Freerunner helped Sean Tallwind over. I coiled the rosemary hoop, into my backpack. Rai and Tegan gathered their fowl carcasses. Mostly may have whispered to Veri from time to time, as we made our bedraggled way back into the Freehold.

I assumed that shock and confusion kept the two lovers with our group. Which is just as well, since there was no way my motley was letting All Mostly out of our sight, until Jesse Frost claimed him. Meanwhile, everyone’s generally numb expressions prompted our gang to detour through the café-turned-deli. Thankfully only boar-like Borris and a couple of cats were on duty, to witness us and our charges.

While perusing the display case, Raion-ju tore a couple of the wings off of one of the blood-red double-ravens, then looked at me and indicated the rest of the creature, “You think they’ll cook this up for us?”

          My first thought was, “Ask him yourself. It’s not my fault you haven’t opened a rapport with anyone that works here.” On the other hand, I continued to worry about what might instigate any of my motley’s murderous impulses. So, I chose to be flattered at the rare acknowledgement of my existence, from Rai. So, although it set a dangerous precedent, I said, “Uh, I’m sure I can talk Borris into something.”

          Tegan heard me and added, “Ask him about a private room upstairs, too. Like we met in before.”

          Yep, there it was. I was willing to allow exceptions for Sean, Veritas, and even Mostly, however the rest of my cohorts were as healthy as me—no broken legs, functional voice-boxes, basic grasp of English, and so on. Yet, any hint of me looking like a flunky and the orders just rolled in. So, before anyone else could spout off another menial request, I put on one of my leather gloves, accepted Rai gory offering, and carried the dripping thing to the counter. “Hey, Borris.” I greeted the chef, without much enthusiasm.

          Borris nodded hello and smiling congenially around his single upward-jutting tusk.

          “So, uh, how do we go about getting a private meeting room?” My free hand rubbed the back of my neck. “And would you cook this for us?”

Holding the unpleasant mass up, by one of its remaining wings. I barely avoided flinging it onto the counter. Knowing that Borris was one of the people who kept the tea-room/deli spotless, made me reluctant to splatter hobkin fluids all over. It just seemed unlikely that such an act would make the broad-shouldered fellow amenable to requests.

          “Da, I can cook, but it costs you.” The chef’s Slavic accent rolled along the core of his bass voice. “Is much work, all those feathers.” Piggy-eyes stared more at the blood speckled floor, than the fowl’s plumage.

          “I’ll pluck it.” Gavin had moved up right behind me.

I may have twitched, slightly, however I _absolutely_ did not jump. Essentially big ambulatory orange-boulders should not be allowed to move that quietly. Not to mention how disturbing Gavin’s aplomb towards handling the corpse was, in its own right. Even so, it was a willingness to do a thing, which was more than I usually got from my friends.

“What do you say, Borris,” I pointed my unoccupied thumb at Gavin, “he cleans it, you cook it… and maybe some vegetables and tea…” I assessed the expressive snout-y face. “And I toss in, say fifteen-dollars?”

One side of Borris’s mouth quirked up, thoughtfully, before he nodded. “Ho-kay, I’ll do dat.” Borris scratched his stubbly chin with a dark-nailed ham-hand. “As for meeting room, you vant de same, has last time?”

“Yeah.” I answered beaming, as the tiniest _ting-hmm_ of our bargain settled into me. Although, my smile was less for the completed transaction, as for my successfully bargaining at all. My recent practice haggling, at the Goblin Market, had clearly, yet unexpectedly, translated into my wider spirit-touched experience.

“In fact,” I added, while handing the meat to Gavin, grabbing a bunch of paper-napkins from the countertop chrome-dispenser, and wiping the gore from my glove. “I’m need to step out front and call the personage, that we want to meet us here.”

By the time that I had completed my call to Jesse Frost, the rest of my party had headed up to the forest-green room. My walk to the spacious den had me emotionally balance. On the one hand, I resented being left to fend for myself, even though the Freehold was so safe. On the other hand, I enjoyed the fairly private chance to gather my thoughts.

In the woodsy meeting-room, I was smiled approvingly to see that my comrades were “setting the stage” counter to Ms. Frost’s earlier preferences. All three hearth and most of the wall-sconces were lit. So the room was quite warm and the few shadows were thin. Thus, rather than a gloomy cave, the space felt like a cozy hunting lodge.

Upon entering, most of the people present looked at me expectantly. I half shrugged. “May as well get settled.” I spoke while heading to a comfortable chair. “Borris said the food would take ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Rrr what about hrrf Ms. Frost?” Freerunner’s mangled voice was equal parts wary and weary.

          “King/Queen Jesse said she’s be over, at her earliest convenience.” I glance to All Mostly, who seemed unfazed by the news.

          My look had also clued those of my motley with any interest, into the fact that Frost had said more which I did not want to repeat in front of the non-Oaksworn. In particular that the barely-tolerant regent had made it clear that since she felt as if we had already cried-wolf, or fox as it were, then she would not be overly inconveniencing herself, for our schedule.

          In the full-spectrum light, I saw the full brilliance of Mostly’s white-streaked crimson hair and rich-mocha skin. The beastling’s yellow-black eyes focused dejectedly at the floor, before him. Even though, the fox-lad sat, on a small green-leather sofa, shoulder to shoulder with his battered beloved, her two bandaged hands cradling his. Though, Veri’s lavender eyes were glassy with pain and exhaustion, so I doubted that she was up for much conversing. Plus, the raven-haired lass’s facial burns probably prohibited speaking, anyway.

          “Mr., should I rrurr take hererer to O’Bleness?” ‘Runner too had been inspecting Veritas.

          Veri shook her head with more vigor than she had to spare. Mostly just yelped, “No.”

“Well, I hope the Black Forest Pub provides a good healer for their staff.” In spite of my sarcasm, Veritas nodded serious affirmation, so nothing more was said regarding medical needs.

          Instead, Tegan turned attentions to All Mostly, “Your Aunt hired us to find you and she’s on her way.” The freckle-faced lass spoke in the calm-assertive tones which she used when intent on being helpful. “Do you know who transformed you?”

Mostly’s posture tensed subtly, which caused me to snicker quietly. Every time the naked lad shifted, it reminded me that his privates were rubbing all over the inside of Gavin’s oversized jacket. Especially funny to me, as I anticipated the red-orange ogre’s reaction, when I found the most opportune moment to point the information out—perhaps after Gavin had worn it for a day or two. However, the look which the fox-eared lad shot me suggested that he may have thought that I was laughing at him.

          “ _Pfft_ ,” All Mostly made a decidedly teenager-y derisive noise and answered Tegan, “no. Shouldn’t you have found that out?”

          Miss Bramblerose’s green eyes widened, while her heart-shaped face went flat, at Mostly’s attitude. Gavin Granit bane clomped towards the conversation, from where he had been posing/guarding the entrance. “Look junior,” a squarish pebbly-orange finger pointed at the vulpine-beastling, “we just helped you and we’re trying to help you some more.”

          “Yeah, right.” Mostly sneered. “My Aunt’s paying you. That’s hardly saving me out of the goodness of your hearts.”

          By then, ‘Runner, Rai, and Tallwind were too tired and disinterested to do more than roll their eyes, from around the table at which they sat. Tegan’s emerald eyes were getting flinty, as her jaw set firmer. I also found Mostly’s rudeness irksome. However, I knew that Jesse Frost and entourage were eminent and preferred to minimize potential socio-political unrest.

          “Hey, Mostly, I’m Twilight Tommy, most folks just call me Tommy.” Entitled yellow canine-eyes looked at me, as if to say ‘So?’ I took a breath and pressed on. “Ms. Frost hired us to find you. Not bring you back, or risk our necks. That we did for you and for Veri.” I nodded to the blister-lipped lass.

          “And now you want something for it.” Mostly’s sneer was a bit more dejected. “I’m sure auntie will fork over a bonus.”

          Veri’s spine stiffened, as her crystalline-purple eyes narrowed sharply at me.

“ _Well_ ,” I drew out the word, trying to maintain my calm, “no. Actually, we’re not interested in more payment. We just want to know what happened to you and how?”

          Thankfully, Veritas relaxed once more, acknowledging that my earlier explanation fit with my new claim. On the other hand, All Mostly just made another “pfft” noise and stopped making eye-contact. Although, the ungrateful dingus did ogle Tegan, from time to time, if he thought that Veri was looking elsewhere.

          My head shook at the extent of Mostly’s audacity and dickishness. Perhaps I had been wrong and fox-boy’s appearance was closure to his actual age. Maybe some people never grew up. My bet was that Mostly’s connection to King/Queen Jesse made him a spoiled aristocrat within the spirit-touched community.

          Right about when Tegan looked as if she had cooled down enough to give talking to the pointy-toothed brat another go, Tokka arrived with a room-service trolley. The wheeled serving shelves held our double-crow meat-pies, Danishes, and hot tea. After Tegan assisted Tokka with transferring the various trays, to the table and coffee-table, the wooden-lad displayed his chalkboard, “I will come back for the plates, later”, then he rolled the trolley away.

          I considered suggesting that we trade Mostly food for answers. However, Tegan had already started offering the petulant beastling and his girlfriend sustenance. The free food did nothing to improve All Mostly’s attitude. On the other hand, what little that battered Veritas was able to gingerly intake noticeably lessened her fatigue. As it did for all of us. I had not even realized how tired and hungry I was, until all eight of us were transfixed with shoveling in what we could get. We had all but finished eating, when our “guests” arrived.   

Winterwater’s representatives frowned, as they filed into our well-lit meeting chamber. A big-bruiser guy and limber-looking lass, each dressed in dark blues and greens, preceded their regent, while a similarly composed pair followed. There was even enough illumination to make out the silhouette-form of Sly Boots. The living shadow slipped silently back to the hall, long enough to halt the rest of Jesse’s retainers out of sight, before returning to once more cling to the King/Queen’s side. While Ms. Frost and Mr. Boots strode to our central congregation, the other four courtiers took positions in what little shadows were to be found in the corners of the room.

          The neckline, of the icy-eyed Regent’s opalescent-white dress, plunged to her naval. The garment shimmered like a snowy oil-slick, against Jesse’s powdery skin. Ms. Frost’s jewelry also glittered brightly, an elaborate necklace and earring set shaped like icicles. And each irregular slim-cone may well have been actual ice, as easily as crystals or diamonds.

Jesse Frost’s piercing gaze started fixed on her nephew, the hint of a happy twinkle in their corners. Then the stare slipped over to Veritas and Ms. Frost more typical bitterness returned. “What is _she_ doing here?” _She_ sounded synonymous with _that_.

          Gavin had not sat to eat and by then Tegan and I had joined him in standing. The rest of our troupe remained seated, including All Mostly and Veri. Although, the two lovers did disengaged their hand holding.

          Smiling proudly, Miss Bramblerose addressed the King/Queen’s question, “Veritas provided crucial assistance in the ritual, which was needed to return Mostly to his true form.”

          “Hmph.” Jesse actually raised her sharp-straight nose, just like a ‘80’s television parody of an upper-crust-snob. The accompanying pale-blue crystalline stare made the pair on the sofa flitch and look away, as if slapped.

          “At the very least,” Ms. Frost gave an exasperated sigh and addressed the rest of us, “our arrangement is concluded. Come and collect your due.”

Snapping fingers crisply, Jesse summoned Philippe Moore, from the hallway. The grey-clad moth-beastling carried an attaché-case handcuffed to his wrist. As Philippe walked to the coffee table, one of the athletic entourage ladies cleared a space to set the case. The winged courier opened the attaché to face us, with a subtle flourish. Within the case, dozens of styles of gold necklaces were professionally displayed.

          “Each chain is valued at one-thousand dollars.” Philippe said with a slight Appalachian draw. “You may select one for each member of your motley.”

          132

A quick visual assessment of the Oaksworn revealed tired faces and slumped postures, save for Tegan and myself. The bloomwell’s military training and my choleric disposition would not allow either of us to show such weakness to the borderline hostile phlegmatists. There was not even enough residual curiosity in our party to make another attempted at discovering if Red Rhea really had enchanted Mostly and why. Not that such answers were really any of our business, anyway.

Besides, if Rhea had been involved, she was long gone and unavailable for learning the technique. Plus, the reasons were probably boring and political… I shook the bitter-grape thoughts from my head. If ever I were to be involved with a next time, then I would know better to include such explanations as part of my payment.

My mind also puzzled over leaving the obviously unpopular Veritas in the company of her beaux’s superiors. Yet, quickly came to the same “it’s not my problem” conclusion. As entertaining as something like this may have been on a show like Jerry Springer, in person even hardened cops avoided domestic disturbances. Besides, Ariadne’s “no fighting” rule should keep everyone safe.

So, I followed my friends in lining up to simply collect our gold. Though, I did proudly inflate with some delight in taking the phlegmatic fae for more than they had counted. Each of my allies had selected their single necklace and walked from the room. I, however, took some care in pointedly choosing four chains—mine, plus one for Amaryllis, Dark Sol, and Iron Wade the Man of Steal.

Mr. Moore’s enormous eyebrows shot up with surprise at my bold move. Then the mothy fellow’s brow furrowed, when no retribution was felt through our Gyr bound bargain. It was not the Oaksworn’s fault that we had more members than were present. I left Winterwater’s overly convoluted thinkers find the loophole, on their own.

Even so, I wrestled with whether to pass the necklaces on to the individual’s that I named. Certainly, Amy was welcome to a share of the booty, though she was unlikely to care. Meanwhile, I hardly believe that either self-involved Sol or the inexplicably absent Iron Wade had done nearly enough to deserve a thousand-buck worth of jewelry.

I met up with my five Oaksworn friends in the morning light of Sheaves & Leaves’s tea room. The deli fare once again having given way to pastries. The six of us lingered long enough make a few simple plans, then head off, to whatever next came our way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View the [dramatis personae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3632565), to help keep track of characters and pseudonyms:  
> A Quick Reference:  
> Summerfire ≡ Rust-Red Spear, Swords, and Spades ≡ Choleric ≡ rage and competition  
> Autumnearth ≡ Bronze Mirror, Pentacles, and Diamonds ≡ Melancholic ≡ terror and lore  
> Winterwater/ice ≡ Frozen Crystal Challis, Cups, and Hearts ≡ Phlegmatic ≡ sorrow and secrecy  
> Springair/wood ≡ Flowered Cape, Wands, and Clubs ≡ Sanguine ≅ desire and pleasure  
> Also see the full [glossary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165390), for tracking unusual terms and concepts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, for reading my story, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it. Finish the set with [Part Three of Motley Few](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5909866), at your convenience.  
> If you have the time, please let me know what you thought of this or any Twilight Tommy tale, with a comment here on AO3 or via email at gitariart@gmail.com. I appreciate any polite criticism.  
> If you enjoyed my writing, please let others know about the stories and where to find them.  
> The next Twilight Tommy Tale, [Motley Few](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5177390), is available.  
> Thanks, again -- GitariArt  
> 


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